THE— 
STORY 


UNTOLD 
LOVE— 

P-L-FORD 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE    STORY    OF   AN 
UNTOLD   LOVE 

PAUL 

LEICESTER 
FORD 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1897  BY  PAUL  LEICESTER  FORD 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


College 
Library 

PS 

\MZ 

S88 
1817 

THE   STORY   OF  AN   UNTOLD 
LOVE 


February  20,  1890.  There  is  not  a 
moment  of  my  life  that  you  have  shared 
with  me  which  I  cannot  recall  with  a  dis 
tinctness  fairly  sunlit.  My  joys  and  my 
sorrows,  my  triumphs  and  my  failures, 
have  faded  one  by  one  from  emotions 
into  memories,  quickening  neither  pulse 
nor  thought  when  they  recur  to  me, 
while  you  alone  can  set  both  throbbing. 
And  though  for  years  I  have  known  that 
if  you  enshrined  any  one  in  your  heart  it 
would  be  some  one  worthier  of  you,  yet 
I  have  loved  you  truly,  and  whatever  I 
have  been  in  all  else,  in  that  one  thing, 
at  least,  I  have  been  strong.  Nor  would 
I  part  with  my  tenderness  for  you,  even 


THE    STORY    OF 

though  it  has  robbed  me  of  contentment ; 
for  all  the  pleasures  of  which  I  can  dream 
cannot  equal  the  happiness  of  loving  you. 
To  God  I  owe  life,  and  you,  Maizie,  have 
filled  that  life  with  love;  and  to  both  I 
bow  my  spirit  in  thanks,  striving  not  to 
waste  his  gift  lest  I  be  unworthy  of  the 
devotion  I  feel  for  you. 

If  I  were  a  stronger  man,  I  should  not 
now  be  sobbing  out  my  heart's  blood 
through  the  tip  of  a  pen.  Instead  of 
writing  of  my  sorrow,  I  should  have  bat 
tled  for  my  love  despite  all  obstacles. 
But  I  am  no  Alexander  to  cut  the  knot 
of  entanglements  which  the  fates  have 
woven  about  me,  and  so,  Midas-like,  I 
sit  morbidly  whispering  the  hidden  grief, 
too  great  for  me  to  bear  in  silence  longer. 

I  can  picture  my  first  glimpse  of  you 
as  vividly  as  my  last.  That  dull  rainy 
day  of  indoor  imprisonment  seems  al 
most  to  have  been  arranged  as  a  shadow- 
box  to  intensify  the  image  graved  so 
deeply  on  my  memory.  The  sun  came, 

2 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

as  you  did,  towards  the  end  of  the  af 
ternoon,  as  if  light  and  warmth  were 
your  couriers.  When  I  shyly  entered  the 
library  in  answer  to  my  father's  call,  you 
were  standing  in  the  full  sunlight,  and 
the  thought  flashed  through  my  mind 
that  here  was  one  of  the  angels  of  whom 
I  had  read.  You  were  only  a  child  of 
seven,  —  to  others,  I  suppose,  immature 
and  formless ;  yet  even  then  your  eyes 
were  as  large  and  as  serious  as  they  are 
to-day,  and  your  curling  brown  hair  had 
already  a  touch  of  fire,  as  if  sunshine 
had  crept  thereinto,  and,  liking  its  abid 
ing-place,  had  lingered  lovingly. 

"  Don,"  cried  my  father,  as  I  stood 
hesitating  in  the  doorway,  "  here 's  a  new 
plaything  for  you.  Give  it  a  welcome 
and  a  kiss." 

I  hung  back,  half  in  shyness,  and  half 
in  fear  that  you  were  of  heaven,  and 
not  of  earth,  but  you  came  forward  and 
kissed  me  without  the  slightest  hesita 
tion.  The  details  are  so  clear  that  I 
3 


THE    STORY    OF 

remember  you  hardly  had  to  raise  youn 
head,  though  I  was  three  years  the  older. 
Your  kiss  dispelled  all  my  timidity,  and 
from  the  moment  of  that  caress  I  loved 
you.  Not  that  I  am  so  foolish  as  to 
believe  I  then  felt  for  you  what  now  I 
feel,  but  by  the  clear  light  of  retrospect 
I  can  see  that  your  coming  brought  a 
new  element  into  my  life,  —  an  element 
which  I  loved  from  the  first,  though  with 
steadily  deepening  intensity,  and  I  can 
not  even  now  determine  at  what  point  a 
boy's  devotion  became  a  lover's. 

To  the  silent  and  lonely  lad  you  were 
an  inspiration.  What  I  might  have 
grown  to  be  had  you  not  been  my  fa 
ther's  ward  I  do  not  like  to  think,  for 
I  was  not  a  strong  boy,  and  my  shyness 
and  timidity  had  prompted  me  to  much 
solitude  and  few  friends,  to  much  reading 
and  to  little  play.  But  it  was  decreed 
that  you  were  to  be  the  controlling  in 
fluence  of  my  life,  and  in  the  first  week 
you  worked  a  revolution  in  my  habits. 
4 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

I  wonder  if  now,  when  you  see  so  many 
men  eager  to  gratify  your  slightest  wish, 
you  ever  think  of  your  earliest  slave, 
whom  you  enticed  to  the  roof  to  drop 
pebbles  or  water  on  the  passers-by,  and 
into  the  cellar  to  bury  a  toy  soldier  deep 
in  the  coal  ?  Does  memory  ever  bring 
back  to  you  how  we  started  to  paint  the 
illustrations  in  Kingsborough's  Mexican 
Antiquities,  or  how  we  built  a  fire  round 
a  doll  on  the  library  rug,  in  imitation  of 
the  death  of  an  Inca  of  Peru  as  pictured 
in  dear  old  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega's  Royal 
Commentaries  ?  You  were  a  lazy  child 
about  reading,  but  when  not  tempting 
me  into  riotous  mischief,  you  would  sit 
by  me  in  the  library  and  let  me  show 
you  the  pictures  in  the  old  books,  and 
I  smile  now  to  think  what  my  running 
versions  of  the  texts  must  have  been. 
Our  favorite  books  were  the  Nuremberg 
Chronicle  and  De  Bry's  Voyages,  for  the 
pictures  of  which,  since  the  Latin  was 
beyond  me,  I  invented  explanations  and 
5 


THE    STORY    OF 

even  whole  stories,  —  stories  over  which 
you  grew  big-eyed  and  sleepless,  and 
which  we  both  came  to  believe  so  firmly 
that  we  never  dreamed  them  to  be  the 
cause  for  the  occasional  outburst  of 
laughter  from  my  father,  when  he  was 
in  the  library. 

Even  in  those  days  you  veiled  your 
witchery  and  mischief-loving  nature  be 
hind  that  serious  face  with  its  curved  but 
unsmiling  mouth.  Keen  as  many  of  our 
pleasures  were  and  blithe  as  were  our 
pranks,  I  can  scarcely  remember  a  smile 
upon  your  face.  Now  and  then  the  mer 
riest  of  laughs  rang  out,  fairly  infectious 
in  its  happiness  and  joy,  but  of  so  rare 
recurrence  as  to  win  for  you  the  sobriquet 
of  "Madam  Gravity."  Your  inscruta 
bility  allured  and  charmed  me  then  as 
I  have  seen  it  fascinate  others  since.  I 
shall  never  understand  you,  and  yet  I 
think  I  misunderstand  you  less  than 
others  do,  for  you  cannot  hide  from  me 
the  quick  thought  and  merry  nature 
6 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

which  you  keep  so  well  hidden  from 
them  ;  and  often  when  others  think  you 
most  abstracted  or  sedate,  I  know  you  are 
holding  high  carnival  with  Puck  and  Mo- 
mus.  Again  and  again  I  have  noted  your 
gravity  in  the  most  humorous  situations 
or  with  the  most  ridiculous  of  persons, 
and  have  smiled  in  secret  with  you.  Last 
summer,  when  my  mother  won  such  a 
laugh  by  telling,  as  something  that  had 
happened  to  her  personally,  the  old  story 
from  Peele's  "  Merrie  Conceits  "  which 
we  had  read  as  children,  you  looked  grave, 
though  the  incident  had  twice  the  humor 
to  you  that  it  had  to  the  others.  In  my 
own  merriment  I  could  not  help  glancing 
at  you,  and  though  neither  of  us  laughed, 
we  understood  each  other's  amusement. 
Evidently  you  were  not  used  to  having 
your  mood  comprehended,  for  after  a  mo 
ment  you  seemed  to  realize  that  I  was 
responding  to  what  you  had  thought  un 
known  to  all.  You  looked  startled  and 
then  puzzled,  and  I  suppose  that  I  be- 
7 


THE    STORY    OF 

tame  even  more  of  a  mystery  to  you 
than  ever.  You  could  not  know  that  my 
knowledge  of  you  came  from  those  early 
days  when  your  nature  was  taking  shape. 
Without  my  memory  of  you  as  a  child 
you  would  be  as  great  an  enigma  to  me 
as  to  the  rest  of  your  friends,  and  so  no 
doubt  it  is  a  small  thing  in  which  to  glory. 
But  it  gives  me  joy  to  feel  that  I  under 
stand  you  better,  and  at  this  very  moment 
know  more  of  your  thoughts  than  your 
husband  ever  will. 

I  owe  to  you  many  dark  closetings  and 
whippings  that  I  never  deserved.  My 
mother  complained  that  from  being  a 
troublesome  child  I  had  become  a  fiend 
of  mischief,  but  my  father  laughed  and 
predicted  that  you  would  make  a  man 
of  me.  I  wonder  if  you  ever  think  of 
him,  and  what  your  thought  is  ?  We 
both  so  loved  him  that  I  cannot  believe 
he  has  passed  entirely  out  of  your  heart. 
How  ready  he  was  to  be  our  comrade ! 
Whether  tired  or  busy  he  would  join  us, 
8 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

not  as  mentor  but  as  playfellow ;  and  now 
that  I  know  what  there  was  to  depress 
his  spirits  at  that  time,  I  marvel  at  his 
cheer  and  courage.  Would  that  I  had 
one  half  of  the  bravery  with  which  he 
met  his  troubles ! 

Perhaps  he  was  right  in  his  assumption 
that  you  would  have  made  a  man  of  me. 
I  do  not  recollect  any  act  of  mine  which 
bore  the   semblance   of  courage   except 
the  rescue  of  the  street  dog  from  those 
boys.     I  hated  to  see  the  poor  beast  tor 
tured,  but  I  feared  the  roughs,  and  so 
stood  faltering  while  you  charged  among 
them.     Not  till  one  of  them  struck  you 
was  I  driven  to  help,  but  I  can  still  feel 
the  fury  which  then  took  possession  of 
me.     I  was  blind  with  rage,  and  a  great 
weight  seemed  pressing  on  my  chest  as 
I  rushed  among  the   boys   and   fought, 
hardly  conscious  of  the  blows  I  gave  or 
received ;  indeed,  the  whole  thing  was  a 
haze  until  I  found  myself  sitting  on  the 
sidewalk,  crying.     For  days  I  went  about 
9 


THE    STORY    OF 

with  a  bandage  over  my  eye ;  but  my 
father  drank  my  health  that  night,  and  I 
remember  his  pat  of  approval,  and  hear 
his  "Bravo,  Donald,  I  'm  proud  of  you." 
It  was  significant  that  I  received  all  the 
praise,  and  you  none ;  my  courage  was 
questionable,  yours  was  not. 

Those  happy,  thoughtless  years  !  The 
one  kill -joy  was  my  mother,  and  she 
made  your  life  and  mine  so  grievous 
with  her  needless  harshness,  quick  tem 
per,  and  neglect  of  our  comfort  that  I 
think  she  must  have  made  my  father's 
equally  miserable.  Dimly  I  can  recol 
lect  her  sudden  gusts  of  temper,  and  his 
instant  dismissal  of  us  from  the  room 
when  they  began.  Do  you  remember 
how  he  used  to  come  up  to  the  nursery 
•  to  smoke,  often  staying  till  our  bedtime, 
and  then  how  we  could  hear  him  go  down 
stairs  and  out  of  the  front  door?  We 
did  not  know  that  he  went  to  his  club, 
nor  at  what  hour  he  returned ;  and  if  we 
had  it  would  have  meant  nothing  to  us. 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

But  we  both  knew  he  found  no  pleasure 
with  my  mother,  and  we  felt  he  was 
right,  for  in  avoiding  her  he  was  but 
doing  what  was  our  chief  endeavor.  I 
have  heard  many  express  admiration  for 
her  beauty,  for  her  church  and  charita 
ble  work,  for  her  brilliancy  in  society,  for 
her  executive  ability,  and  for  her  gen 
eral  public  spirit.  Her  neglect  of  fam 
ily  duties,  her  extravagance,  her  fre 
quent  absences,  and  her  fatigued  petu 
lance  when  at  home  were  known  only  to 
her  household.  Our  servants  rarely  re 
mained  a  month  with  us,  —  were  changed 
so  often  as  to  destroy  all  possibility  of 
comfort ;  but  we  three  were  not  free  to 
follow  their  example,  and  so  our  misery 
made  us  the  dearer  to  one  another.  I 
am  proud  to  think  that,  close  as  we  drew 
together,  my  father  never  uttered  in  my 
presence  a  single  word  of  criticism  or  com 
plaint  against  my  mother,  and  I  should 
be  the  better  man  if,  instead  of  writing 
these  unfilial  words,  I  left  them  unsaid. 
ii 


THE   STORY   OF 

Indeed,  I  will  not  spend  more  of  my  even 
ing  on  these  old  memories,  but  begin  on 
my  work. 

Do  you  remember,  Maizie,  how  my  fa 
ther  taught  us  to  give  him  and  each  other 
a  parting  word  ?  "  Good-night,  father. 
Good-night,  Maizie.  God  bless  you  both," 
it  used  to  be.  He  sleeps  now  in  his  grave, 
and  three  years  ago  you  barred  your  door 
to  me,  but  still  I  can  say  as  of  old,  "  Good 
night,  Maizie.  God  bless  and  keep  you, 
dear." 

is 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 


II 


February  21.  To  put  all  this  on  pa. 
per  is  weak  and  aimless,  yet  it  seems  to 
ease  my  sadness.  I  suppose  a  scribbler 
unconsciously  comes  to  write  out  what 
ever  he  feels,  as  a  nervous  woman  plays 
her  emotions  away  on  a  piano.  If  this  is 
so,  why  should  not  I  salve  my  grief  in 
any  way  that  lessens  it  ?  Those  old  days 
had  such  happiness  in  them  that  the  mere 
memory  brings  some  to  me,  and  to  sit 
here  at  my  study  table  and  write  of  the 
past  is  better  than  idle  dwelling  on  the 
present. 

You  were  jubilant  when  first  told 
that  we  were  all  to  go  to  Europe  for  a 
summer,  and  laughed  at  my  fears  and 
despondency.  Could  I  have  had  an  in 
tuition  of  coming  evil,  or  was  my  alarm 
'3 


THE   STORY   OF 

due  to  the  engravings  of  those  terrible 
sea-monsters  with  which  Mercator  popu 
lated  the  oceans  in  his  "  Atlas  sive  Cos- 
mographicae,"  and  to  the  pictures  and 
tales  in  bloodthirsty  old  Exquemelin's 
"  Bucaniers  of  America  "  ?  Our  notions 
of  what  the  trip  meant  were  evidently  not 
very  clear,  for  at  once  we  set  to  stor 
ing  up  provisions,  and  weeks  before  the 
time  of  sailing  we  were  the  proud  pos 
sessors  of  a  cracker-box  full  of  assorted 
edibles,  a  jar  of  olives  we  had  pilfered, 
and  a  small  pie  you  had  cajoled  the  cook 
into  making  for  us.  How  we  loved  and 
gloated  over  that  pie !  Daily  we  sorted 
our  sea-stores,  added  new  supplies,  and 
ate  what  clearly  could  be  kept  no  longer. 
My  mother  found  us  one  day  deeply  en 
grossed  in  the  occupation,  cuffed  us  both, 
and  sent  the  olives  back  to  the  pantry 
and  the  tin  box  to  the  ash-barrel.  As 
for  the  pie,  such  hot  words  passed-  about 
it  between  "Madame"  and  "Monsieur 
Philippe  "  that  our  cook  left  us  without 
14 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

warning.  We  were  again  punished  for 
being  the  cause  of  his  desertion,  and  that 
evening  father  dined  at  his  club. 

The  different  effects  my  mother's  gusts 
of  anger  had  on  you  and  on  me  were  cu 
riously  distinctive.  You  met  them  fear 
lessly  and  stubbornly,  while  to  me  the 
moments  of  her  fury  were  moments  in 
which  I  could  scarcely  breathe,  and  of 
which  I  felt  the  terror  for  hours  after. 
I  sometimes  wonder  if  the  variance  was 
because  I  had  learned  to  fear  the  out 
bursts  even  as  a  baby,  whereas  your 
character  had  partly  formed  before  you 
encountered  them.  Who  knows  but  a 
change  of  circumstances  might  have  made 
me  the  fearless  one,  and  you  the  timor 
ous  ?  At  least  I  should  be  glad  to  think 
that  I  might  have  been  like  you  in  cour 
age  and  spirit,  even  though  it  is  impos 
sible  to  imagine  that  you  could  ever  be 
like  me.  It  is  a  singular  turn  of  life's 
whirligig  that  when  my  mother  tried  to 
pain  you  last  autumn  by  her  cruel  re- 
15 


THE   STORY   OF 

marks,  you  were  helpless  to  retort,  and 
owed  your  escape  to  my  help. 

What  a  delight  the  ocean  voyage  was 
to  us  !  Those  were  the  times  of  ten-day 
trips,  still  dear  to  all  true  lovers  of  the 
sea  ;  and  had  our  wishes  been  consulted, 
thrice  ten  would  have  been  none  too 
long  for  our  passage.  The  officers,  the 
crew,  the  stewards,  and  the  passengers 
were  no  more  proof  against  your  inde 
finable  spell  than  was  I,  and  it  seemed 
quite  as  if  the  boat  were  your  private 
yacht,  with  all  on  board  seeking  only  to 
serve  you.  Our  pleasure  was  so  intense 
that  we  planned  an  ideal  future,  in  which 
I  was  to  become  the  captain  of  a  steam 
ship,  and  you  were  to  live  on  the  vessel 
in  some  equally  delightful  if  impossible 
capacity. 

The  last  time  I  was  in  Paris,  I  walked 
several  miles  merely  to  look  at  the  out 
side  of  our  pension,  and  then  went  on  and 
sat  dreaming  in  the  little  park  near  it  in 

which  we  passed  so  many  hours  of  our 
16 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

stay  in  that  city.  As  of  old,  the  place 
was  full  of  children  and  nurses,  and  I 
understood  what  had  puzzled  me  not  a 
little  in  recollection,  —  how  you  and  I, 
without  mingling  with  them,  had  learned 
so  quickly  the  language  they  chattered. 
Do  you  remember  their  friendly  ad 
vances,  met  only  by  rebuffs  ?  My  cold 
ness  flowed  from  shyness,  and  yours  from 
a  trait  that  people  to  this  day  call  haugh 
tiness,  but  which  I  know  to  be  only  a  fas 
tidious  refinement  that  yields  acquaint 
ance  to  few  and  friendship  to  fewer. 
From  the  moment  you  came  into  my  life 
I  craved  no  other  friend,  and  you  seemed 
equally  content.  What  was  there  in  me 
that  won  for  me  what  you  gave  so  rarely  ? 
Was  there  an  instinct  of  natural  sympa 
thy,  or  was  it  merely  pity  for  me  in  the 
loving  heart  you  masked  behind  that  sub 
tle  face  ? 

It  is  indicative  of  what   children  we 
still  were  that  during  the  whole  of  our 
sojourn  in  Paris  neither  of  us  was  con- 
17 


THE    STORY    OF 

scious  that  our  standard  of  living  had 
changed.  We  lodged  in  a  cheap  pen 
sion  ;  instead  of  our  own  carriage  we 
used  the  omnibus ;  and  a  thousand  other 
evidences  told  the  story  of  real  economy ; 
yet  not  one  we  observed  except  the  dis 
appearance  of  our  bonne,  and  this  was 
noted,  not  as  a  loss,  but  as  a  joy  to  both. 
After  the  nurse  was  gone  my  father 
became  more  than  ever  our  comrade,  and 
a  better  one  two  children  never  had. 
Oh,  those  long  excursions  to  Versailles, 
Montmartre,  and  Fontainebleau,  our  boat 
trips  up  and  down  the  Seine,  and  our 
shorter  jaunts  within  the  city !  What 
happiness  it  was  to  us  when  he  came  in 
whistling  and  cried,  "  Donald,  Maizie,  you 
are  horribly  bad  children,  and  I  'm  going 
to  take  you  on  a  lark  to  punish  you ! " 
After  time  spent  in  filling  our  lunch-bas 
ket  with  big  rolls  bought  at  the  boulange- 
rie,  a  few  sous'  worth  of  cherries  or  other 
fruit  lengthily  bargained  for  with  the  frui 
tier,  and  a  half  litre  of  cheap  wine,  plus 
18 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

whatever  other  luxuries  our  imaginations 
or  our  appetites  could  suggest,  away  we 
would  go  for  a  long  day  of  pure  delight, 
whether  passed  under  green  trees  or  wan 
dering  through  galleries  and  museums. 
My  father  was  an  encyclopaedia  of  infor 
mation,  and  had  the  knack  of  making 
knowledge  interesting  to  the  child  mind. 
He  could  re-create  a  bygone  period  from 
a  battle-axe  or  a  martel  de  fert  the  per 
sonality  of  a  queen  from  her  lace  ruff 
or  stomacher,  and  the  history  of  plant 
growth  from  a  fern  or  flower.  If  his 
mind  had  been  allowed  to  expand  when 
he  was  young,  instead  of  being  stunted  in 
a  broker's  office,  I  believe  he  might  have 
been  one  of  the  world's  great  writers  or 
critics. 

Under  such  stimulating  tutelage  our 
progress  in  those  two  years  was  really 
wonderful.  No  subject  my  father  touched 
upon  could  remain  dull ;  we  were  at  a 
receptive  age  when  the  mind  is  fresh  and 
elastic  for  all  that  interests  it,  and  Paris 
19 


THE    STORY    OF 

was  a  great  picture-book  to  illustrate  what 
he  taught  us.  We  did  not  know  we  were 
studying  far  deeper  into  subjects  than 
many  educated  people  ever  go.  I  laugh 
still  at  your  telling  the  old  German  on  the 
train  to  Sevres  the  history  of  the  Faust 
plot,  and  at  his  amazed  "  Ach,  zo ! "  to 
hear  such  erudition  pour  from  your  child 
ish  lips.  I  think  you  were  the  cleverer 
and  the  quicker,  but  there  was  no  compe 
tition,  only  fellowship  about  our  learning. 
I  suppose  you  were  above  rivalry,  as  you 
are  above  all  mean  things. 

And  that  is  your  chief  glory  to  me. 
In  those  seven  years  of  closest  compan 
ionship,  and  in  these  last  three  years  of 
lesser  intercourse  but  far  keener  observa 
tion,  I  have  never  known  you  to  do  a 
mean  thing  or  to  speak  a  mean  thought. 
I  almost  feel  it  treason  to  couple  the  word 
with  you,  or  deny  a  trait  so  impossible 
for  you  to  possess,  and  of  which  you  have 
always  shown  such  scorn  and  hatred.  At 
this  moment  I  know  that  I  should  only 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

have  to  speak  to  part  you  forever  from  — 
Ah,  what  foolishness  I  am  writing,  tempt 
ing  me  to  even  greater  meanness  than 
his,  and  so  to  deserve  the  greater  con 
tempt  from  you !  Thinking  me  base, 
you  closed  your  doors  to  me  three  years 
ago,  and  I  love  you  the  better  that  not 
even  for  auld  lang  syne  could  you  par 
don  what  is  so  alien  to  you.  If  the  day 
ever  comes  when  you  again  admit  me  to 
your  friendship,  I  shall  be  happy  in  know 
ing  that  you  think  me  above  baseness  or 
meanness ;  for  you  would  not  compound 
with  them,  Maizie,  be  the  circumstances 
what  they  might. 

Our  Paris  life  would  not  have  been  so 
happy  and  careless  but  for  the  slight  part 
my  mother  had  in  it.  So  little  did  we 
see  of  her  in  those  years  that  I  think  of 
her  scarcely  as  one  of  us.  I  remember 
dimly  a  scene  of  hot  anger  between  her 
and  my  father,  —  he  standing  passively 
by  the  high  porcelain  stove,  while  she 
raged  about  the  room.  So  great  was  her 


THE    STORY    OF 

fury  that  once,  in  passing,  as  I  crouched 
scared  and  silent  on  the  sofa,  she  struck 
me,  —  a  blow  which  brought  my  father 
to  my  side,  where  he  stood  protectingly 
while  the  storm  lasted,  with  his  hand 
resting  lovingly  on  my  shoulder.  My 
vague  impression  is  that  the  outburst  was 
only  a  protest  against  the  poor  lodgings, 
but  it  may  have  occurred  when  some  ex 
planation  took  place  between  my  parents. 
I  can  see  my  mother  now,  sitting  on  the 
little  balcony  overlooking  the  garden  of 
our  pension,  snarling  an  ill-natured  word  at 
us  as  you  and  I  tried  to  play  consultation 
games  of  chess  against  my  father.  He 
gave  us  odds  at  first  of  the  rook  and  two 
pawns,  but  finally  only  of  a  knight.  Oh, 
the  triumph  of  those  victories !  How 
we  gloried  in  them,  and  how  delighted 
our  antagonist  was  when  we  conquered 
him  !  Little  we  minded  what  my  mother 
did  except  when  we  happened  to  be 
alone  with  her,  and  I  think  that  the  dear 
father  played  bad  chess  with  us  rather 

22 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

than  good  at  the  caf£s,  and  made  us  his 
companions  wherever  he  went,  to  save  us 
from  her  severity. 

I  can  recall  very  clearly  her  constant 
difficulties  with  our  landlady  and  the 
servants,  which  finally  culminated  in  a 
request  that  we  should  seek  lodgings 
elsewhere.  Do  you  recollect  Madame 
Vanott's  clasping  us  both  in  her  arms 
and  filling  our  hands  with  bonbons,  when 
the  time  of  parting  came  ?  I  do  not 
know  where  we  removed  to,  my  sole  re 
membrance  of  the  next  few  weeks  being 
of  my  mother's  complaints  of  lodgings, 
food,  servants,  and  French  life  generally. 
We  moved  three  times  within  a  month, 
fairly  expelled  by  our  landlords  because 
they  could  not  live  at  peace  with  "la 
Madame."  Our  last  exodus  began  in  an 
angry  scene  between  her  and  the  house 
wife,  in  which  a  gendarme  played  a  part, 
and  from  which  you  and  I  fled.  The 
next  morning  we  learned  that  my  mother 
had  determined  to  return  to  America, 
23 


THE    STORY    OF 

and  leave  us  to  live  our  own  life.  Three 
days  later  we  said  emotionless  good-bys, 
my  father  going  as  far  as  Havre  with 
her. 

Her  departure  set  us  asking  questions, 
and  my  father's  replies  explained  many 
things  which,  in  our  childish  talks,  we 
had  gravely  discussed.  He  told  us  how 
his  own  wealth  had  been  lost  in  Wall 
Street,  barely  enough  being  left  for  a 
competence  even  in  Europe.  Of  my  mo 
ther's  leaving  us  he  spoke  sadly.  "  She 
never  pretended  to  care  for  me,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  loved  her  and  was  willing  to  marry 
her.  The  wrong  was  mine,  and  we  should 
not  blame  her  if,  when  I  can  no  longer 
give  what  was  her  price,  she  does  not 
choose  to  continue  the  one-sided  bar 
gain."  At  the  time  her  absence  seemed 
to  you  and  me  only  a  relief,  but  now,  as 
I  look  back,  I  know  that  my  father  never 
ceased  to  love  her,  —  all  the  more,  per 
haps,  because  his  love  had  never  been  re 
quited, —  and  that  separation  must  have 
24 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

been  the  final  wrecking  of  his  life.  Yet 
from  the  day  she  left  us  I  never  heard 
him  speak  an  angry  word,  and  sorrow  that 
would  have  crushed  most  men  seemed  to 
make  him  the  gentler  and  sweeter.  I 
wish  —  Ah !  the  clock  is  striking  three, 
and  if  I  am  to  bring  working  power  to 
working  hours  I  must  stop  writing. 
Good-night,  dear  one. 


THE   STORY   OF 


III 

February  22.  After  my  mother  left 
us  we  did  not  stay  in  Paris,  but  went  to 
Ischl,  which  we  made  merely  the  point 
of  departure  for  walking  tours  which 
often  lasted  for  weeks.  Several  times  I 
have  spoken  of  the  region  to  you,  hoping 
to  draw  from  you  some  remark  proving 
a  recollection  of  those  days,  but  you  al 
ways  avoid  reply.  Yet  I  am  sure  they  are 
not  forgotten,  for  miles  of  the  Tyrol  and 
Alps  are  as  familiar  to  me  as  the  gar- 
nishings  of  a  breakfast-table.  My  father 
had  the  tact  and  kindly  humor  that  make 
a  man  equally  at  home  and  welcome  in 
Gasthaus  and  Schloss.  Though  we  trav 
eled  with  only  a  knapsack,  his  breeding 
and  education  were  so  patent  to  whom 
soever  we  met  that  we  spent  many  a 
night  inside  of  doors  with  armorial  coats 
26 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

of  many  quarterings  carved  above  them, 
and  many  a  day's  shooting  and  fishing 
followed.  Yet  pleasant  as  was  this  im 
promptu  and  "  gentle "  hospitality,  1 
think  we  were  all  quite  as  happy  when 
our  evenings  were  spent  among  the  peas 
ants,  drinking  beer,  talking  of  farming  and 
forestry,  singing  songs,  or  listening  to  the 
blare  of  the  peripatetic  military  band. 

My  father  was  a  fine  German  scholar, 
and  you  and  I  acquired  the  language 
as  quickly  and  as  easily  as  we  learned 
French.  We  always  had  books  in  our 
pockets,  and  used  to  lie  for  hours  under 
the  trees,  reading  aloud.  Long  discus 
sions  followed  over  what  we  had  conned, 
enriched  by  the  thousand  side-lights  my 
father  could  throw  on  any  subject.  To 
most  people  reading  is  a  resort  to  save 
themselves  from  thinking,  but  my  father 
knew  that  pitfall,  and  made  us  use  books 
as  a  basis  for  thought  on  our  own  part. 
After  a  volume  was  finished  we  would 
each  write  a  criticism  of  it,  and  the  com- 
27 


THE    STORY    OF 

parison  of  my  boyish  attempts  with  his 
brilliant,  comprehensive,  and  philosophic 
work  taught  me  more  of  writing  than  all 
the  tuition  I  ever  had. 

My  craving  for  knowledge,  always 
strong,  became  inordinate,  probably  be 
cause  the  acquisition  of  it  was  made  so 
fascinating  that  I  learned  without  real  ex 
ertion.  I  began  to  find  limits  even  to 
my  father's  erudition,  and  chafed  under 
them.  He  reviewed  his  Greek  that  he 
might  impart  it  to  us,  as  he  had  long 
before  taught  us  Latin,  and  together  we 
all  three  studied  Spanish  and  Italian. 
I  was  not  satisfied,  for  my  desire  for  the 
one  thing  my  father  was  unable  to  teach 
was  not  appeased  by  the  twenty  which  he 
could.  I  begged  for  regular  tuition,  and, 
indulgent  as  he  always  was,  he  took  us  to 
Heidelberg,  where  I  was  enrolled  in  the 
gymnasium.  Yet  the  long  hours  of  sep 
aration  that  this  entailed  made  little  dif 
ference  in  our  relations,  since  except  for 
these  we  were  inseparable.  Whenever  my 
28 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

school-work  left  us  time  to  quit  Heidelberg 
we  made  walking  tours,  and  we  availed 
ourselves  of  the  summer  holiday  to  see 
far-away  lands.  The  great  libraries  were 
our  chief  goals,  but  everything  interested 
us,  from  the  archaic  plough  we  saw  in 
the  field  to  the  masterpiece  of  the  gallery. 
I  do  not  know  whether  I  was  dull  for  my 
years,  but  I  do  know  that  you  were  preco 
cious  and  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  up 
with  me  in  my  studies.  Indeed,  thanks  to 
your  own  brightness  and  to  the  long  hours 
spent  with  my  father  while  I  was  reciting, 
you  went  ahead  of  me  in  many  respects. 
It  makes  me  very  happy  now  to  think  of 
what  you  two  were  to  each  other,  and  to 
know  that  you  are  so  largely  indebted  to 
him  for  the  depth  and  brilliance  of  mind 
that  I  hear  so  often  commented  upon. 
And  I  love  you  all  the  better  because  you 
made  those  years  so  happy  to  him  by 
your  love  and  companionship. 

Last  winter  Mrs.  Blodgett  accused  me 
of  being   a  misogynist,  and   proved   her 
29 


THE    STORY   OF 

point  by  asking  me  to  tell  the  color  of  Ag- 
nes's  eyes.  You  and  Agnes  only  laughed 
when  I  miscolored  them,  but  Mrs.  Blod- 
gett  was  really  nettled.  "  There !  "  she 
said.  "  Apparently,  Agnes  and  I  are  the 
only  women  you  ever  go  to  see  or  pre 
tend  to  care  for,  and  yet  you  think  so 
little  of  us  that  you  don't  know  the  color 
of  our  eyes."  Had  she  only  asked  me  to 
describe  your  eyes  in  place  of  Agnes's 
I  should  not  have  erred,  but  I  suppose 
even  then  the  world  would  be  justified  in 
thinking  I  do  not  care  for  woman's  so 
ciety.  Certainly  you,  of  all  others,  have 
the  right  to  think  so,  after  my  twice 
refusing  your  friendship ;  and  yet  it  is 
my  love  of  you  far  more  than  my  stud 
ies  or  shyness  that  has  made  me  indiffer 
ent  to  other  women.  And  so  far  from 
being  a  misogynist,  I  care  for  as  few 
men  as  women.  You  perhaps  recall  how 
much  apart  I  kept  myself  from  my  fellow 
students,  and  how  my  father  had  to  urge 
me  to  join  them  in  the  fencing  and  chess 
3° 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

contests  ?  Later,  at  the  university,  after 
you  had  left  us,  I  entered  more  eagerly 
;nto  the  two  pastimes,  and  succeeded  in 
making  myself  a  skilled  swordsman.  As 
for  chess,  I  learned  to  play  the  game 
you  tested  last  October  on  the  veranda 
of  My  Fancy.  You  looked  courteously 
grave  when,  after  our  initial  battle,  I  had 
to  ask  from  you  the  odds  of  a  pawn, 
and  never  dreamed  that  I  fathomed  your 
secret  triumph  over  your  victory.  You 
are  so  delightfully  human  and  womanly, 
after  all,  Maizie,  to  any  one  who  can 
read  your  thoughts.  It  is  a  pleasure  to 
see  your  happiness  in  the  consciousness 
of  your  own  power,  and  I  grudge  you 
victory  over  me  no  more  than  over  other 
men.  Yet  while  you  play  better  chess, 
I  think  you  could  not  conquer  me  quite 
as  easily  if  I  were  not  much  more  inter 
ested  in  studying  the  player  than  the 
play.  Perhaps  but  for  you  I  should  have 
made  friends,  for  later,  at  Leipzig,  despite 
my  shyness  and  stucliousness,  I  seemed 


THE   STORY   OF 

fairly  popular ;  but  so  long  as  I  had  you 
I  cared  for  no  other  friend,  and  after 
our  separation  I  could  form  no  new  tie. 
Neither  in  love  nor  in  friendship  have 
you  ever  had  a  rival  in  my  heart. 

Our  happiness  ended  the  day  when 
Johann,  the  poor  factotum  of  our  lodg 
ing-place,  found  us  in  the  castle  park  and 
summoned  us  back  to  the  house,  where 
my  father  and  Mr.  Walton  were  awaiting 
you.  The  news  that  we  were  to  be  parted 
came  so  suddenly  that  we  could  not  be 
lieve  it.  I  stood  in  stunned  silence,  while 
you  declared  that  you  would  not  go  with 
your  uncle ;  even  in  that  terrible  moment 
speaking  more  like  a  queen  issuing  orders 
than  like  a  rebel  resisting  authority.  We 
both  appealed  to  my  father,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  told  us  we  must 
be  parted.  Mr.  Walton  sat  with  the  cool 
and  slightly  bored  look  that  his  worldly 
face  wears  so  constantly,  and  I  presume  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  understand  our 
emotion. 

3* 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Your  luggage  had  been  packed  while 
we  were  being  summoned,  and  I  carried 
your  bag  down  to  the  carriage,  in  the  en 
deavor  to  do  you  some  last  little  service. 
We  did  not  even  go  through  the  form  of 
a  farewell,  but,  tearless  and  speechless, 
held  each  other's  hands  till  my  father 
gently  separated  us.  To  this  day  the 
snap  of  a  whip  causes  me  to  catch  my 
breath,  it  brings  back  so  vividly  the  crack 
with  which  Mr.  Walton's  cabman  whipped 
up  his  horse.  Fate  was  merciful,  for  she 
gave  me  no  glimpse  of  the  future,  and 
so  left  me  the  hope  that  we  should  not 
be  parted  long.  I  question  if  the  deli 
cate  lad  of  those  days  could  have  borne 
the  thought  that  our  separation,  enforced 
by  others,  would  in  time  be  continued  by 
you. 

The  life  was  too  happy  to  last ;  and 
yet  I  do  not  know  why  I  write  that,  for 
I  do  not  believe  that  God's  children  are 
born  to  be  wretched,  and  I  would  sooner 
renounce  my  faith  in  him  than  believe 
33 


THE   STORY   OF 

him  so  cruel  to  his  own  creations.  The 
sadness  and  estrangement  in  my  life  are 
all  of  human  origin,  and  mine,  it  seems 
to  me,  has  been  a  fuller  cup  of  bitterness 
than  most  men  have  to  drink  Or  am  I 
only  magnifying  my  own  sufferings,  and 
diminishing  those  of  my  fellow  mortals  ? 
To  the  world  I  am  a  fortunate  man,  with 
promise  of  even  greater  success.  Do  all 
the  people  about  me,  who  seem  to  be 
equally  prosperous,  bury  away  from  sight 
some  grief  like  mine  that  beggars  joy  ? 

Can  you,  Maizie,  in  the  tide  and  tri 
umph  of  your  beauty  and  wealth,  hide 
any  such  death-wound  to  all  true  hap 
piness  ?  Pray  God  you  do  not.  Good 
night,  my  darling. 

34 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 


IV 


February  23.  After  you  were  gone  I 
fled  to  my  room,  crawling  under  the  win 
dow-seat,  much  as  a  mortally  wounded 
animal  tries  to  hide  itself.  Here  my  fa 
ther  found  me  many  hours  later,  speech 
less  and  shivering.  He  drew  me  from 
my  retreat,  and  I  still  remember  the  sting 
of  the  brandy  as  he  poured  it  down  my 
throat.  Afterwards  the  doctor  came,  to 
do  nothing  ;  but  all  that  night  my  father 
sat  beside  me,  and  towards  morning  he 
broke  down  my  silence,  and  we  talked 
together  over  the  light  which  had  gone 
out  of  our  lives,  till  I  fell  asleep.  He 
told  me  that  the  death  of  your  two  aunts 
had  made  you  a  great  heiress,  and  ren 
dered  your  continuance  with  us,  in  our 
poverty,  impossible.  "  She  's  gone  away 
35 


THE   STORY   OF 

out  of  our  class,  Donald,"  my  father  said 
sadly,  "and  in  the  change  of  circum 
stances  her  mother  would  n't  have  made 
me  her  guardian.  It  was  better  for  all 
of  us  to  let  her  uncle  take  her  back  to 
New  York."  Even  in  my  own  grief  I 
felt  his  sorrow,  and  though  he  did  not 
dodge  my  questions,  I  could  see  how  the 
subject  pained  him,  and  avoided  it  thence 
forth.  How  strangely  altered  my  life 
would  have  been  if  I  had  insisted  on  know 
ing  more ! 

The  doctor  came  several  times  after 
wards,  for  I  did  not  rally  as  I  should  have 
done,  and  at  last  he  ordered  a  year's  ces 
sation  of  studies  and  plenty  of  exercise. 
It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  me  at  the  time, 
for  I  was  on  the  point  of  entering  the 
University  of  Leipzig ;  but  now  I  can 
see  it  was  all  for  the  best,  since  the  time 
given  to  our  tours  through  Spain  and 
Italy  was  well  spent,  and  the  delay  made 
me  better  able  to  get  the  full  value  of 
the  lectures.  Moreover,  that  outdoor  life 
36 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

added  three  inches  to  the  height  and  sev 
enteen  pounds  to  the  weight  of  the  hith 
erto  puny  boy.  For  a  time  my  father  made 
my  health  his  care,  and  insisted  on  my 
walking  and  fencing  daily  ;  but  after  that 
long  holiday  he  need  not  have  given  it  a 
thought,  for  I  grew  steadily  to  my  pres 
ent  height,  and  while  always  of  slender 
build,  I  can  outwalk  or  outwork  many  a 
stockier  man. 

My  university  career  was  successful ; 
it  could  hardly  have  failed  to  be,  with 
my  training.  I  fear  that  I  became  over- 
elated  with  my  success,  not  appreciating 
how  much  it  was  due  to  my  father's  aid 
and  to  the  kindness  of  two  of  my  instruc 
tors.  For  my  Ph.  D.  I  made  a  study  of 
the  great  race  movements  of  the  world, 
in  which  my  predilection  for  philology, 
ethnology,  and  history  gave  me  an  espe 
cial  interest.  I  so  delighted  my  professor 
of  philology  by  my  enthusiasm  and  tire- 
lessness  that  he  stole  long  hours  from  the 
darling  of  his  heart  to  aid  me.  (I  need 
37 


THE   STORY   OF 

hardly  add  that  I  do  not  allude  to  Frau 
Jastrow,  but  to  his  Verb-Roots  of  Fifty- 
Two  Languages  and  Dialects  of  Indo- 
Germanic  Origin,  to  be  published  some 
day  in  seventeen  volumes,  quarto.)  He 
even  brought  me  bundles  of  his  manu 
script  to  read  and  criticise.  Our  rela 
tions  were  as  intimate  as  were  possible 
between  a  professor  and  a  student,  and 
despite  his  reputation  for  ill  temper  the 
only  evidence  he  ever  gave  me  of  it  was 
a  certain  querulousness  over  the  gaps  in 
human  knowledge. 

My  doctor's  thesis  on  A  Study  of  the 
Influence  of  Religion  in  the  Alienation 
and  Mixture  of  Races  —  which,  with  a 
vanity  I  now  laugh  over,  I  submitted  not 
merely  in  Latin,  but  as  an  original  work 
in  four  other  languages  —  was  not  only 
the  delight  of  both  my  dear  professors, 
but  was  well  considered  outside  the  uni 
versity.  At  Jastrow's  urging,  poor  Buch- 
holtz  printed  editions  in  all  five  languages ; 
and  as  onlv  the  German  had  any  sale 
38 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

worth  mentioning,  he  ever  after  looked 
gloomy  at  a  mere  allusion  to  the  title. 
But  though  it  earned  me  no  royalties,  it 
won  me  the  Kellermann  prize,  given  every 
fifth  year  for  the  best  original  work  on  an 
historical  subject. 

On  our  first  arrival  in  Leipzig  my  fa 
ther  sought  literary  employment  from  the 
great  publishers  of  that  city  of  books, 
and  soon  obtained  all  the  "review"  and 
"  hack  "  writing  that  he  wished.  He  en 
couraged  me  to  help  him  in  the  work, 
and  in  my  training  probably  lay  his  chief 
inducement,  for  he  was  paid  at  starvation 
rates  in  that  land  of  hungry  authors. 
The  labor  quickly  taught  me  the  techni 
cal  part  of  authorship,  the  rock  which 
has  wrecked  so  many  hopes.  Our  work 
brought  us,  too,  the  acquaintance  of  many 
literary  men,  and  thus  gave  us  our  pleas- 
antest  society,  and  one  peculiarly  fitted 
to  develop  me.  Furthermore,  we  secured 
command  of  the  unlimited  books  stored 
on  the  publishers'  shelves,  which  we  used 
39 


THE    STORY    OF 

as  freely  as  if  they  were  our  own  private 
library. 

Very  quickly  I  began  to  do  more  than 
help  my  father  in  his  work  ;  I  myself 
tried  to  write.  He  put  many  a  manu 
script  in  the  fire,  after  going  over  the 
faults  with  me,  but  finally  I  wrote  some 
thing  that  he  let  me  send  to  an  editor. 
His  admirable  judgment  must  have  been 
warped  by  his  fatherly  love,  for  the  arti 
cle  was  rejected.  A  like  fate  befell  many 
others,  but  at  last  one  was  accepted,  and 
I  do  not  know  which  of  us  was  the  more 
delighted  when  it  was  published  in  the 
"  Zeitschrift  fur  Deutsche  Philologie." 
By  my  father's  advice  it  was  signed  with 
a  pseudonym ;  for  he  pointed  out  that  I 
was  still  too  young  for  editors  who  knew 
me  to  give  my  manuscript  a  reading,  and 
that  a  German  name  would  command 
greater  respect  from  them  than  an  Eng 
lish  one. 

I  received  twenty  marks  for  that  first 
article,  and  spent  it  in  secret  the  next 
40 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

day.  Had  you  known  of  my  pleasure  in 
the  gift,  and  the  hopes  that  went  with 
it,  I  think  you  would  have  sent  a  line  of 
acknowledgment  to  the  hungry  -  hearted 
fellow  who,  after  four  years  of  separa 
tion,  still  longed  for  a  token  from  you. 
Three  times  had  I  written,  without  re 
sponse,  but  I  thought  the  beauty  of  the 
photograph  would  so  appeal  to  you  that 
it  must  bring  me  back  a  word  from  you, 
and  lived  in  the  hope  for  six  months. 
My  father  joked  me  genially  about  what 
I  had  done  with  that  vast  wealth,  pre 
tending  at  moments  that  he  believed  it 
had  been  avariciously  hoarded,  and  at 
other  times  that  it  had  been  squandered 
in  riotous  living,  till  one  day,  when  all 
hope  of  acknowledgment  had  died,  his 
chaff  wrung  from  me  an  exclamation  of 
pain,  suppressed  too  late  to  be  concealed 
from  him.  So  closely  attuned  had  we 
become  that  he  understood  in  an  instant 
what  it  meant,  and,  laying  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder,  he  appealed,  "  Forgive  me, 
41 


THE   STORY    OF 

my  boy !  I  have  been  very  cruel  in  my 
thoughtlessness  !" 

Nothing  more  was  said  then,  but  later 
that  evening,  when  we  rose  from  our 
work,  he  asked,  "  She  never  replied  ?  " 
and  when  I  shook  my  head,  the  saddest 
look  I  ever  saw  in  him  came  upon  his 
face.  He  seemed  about  to  speak  im 
pulsively,  faltered,  checked  himself,  and 
finally  entreated,  "Bear  up,  Donald,  and 
try  to  forget  her."  I  could  only  shake  my 
head  again,  but  he  undei  stood.  "She's 
feminine  quicksilver,"  he  groaned,  "and 
I  can't  get  the  dear  girl  out  of  my  blood, 
either."  We  gripped  each  other's  hands 
for  a  moment,  and  I  said,  "Good-night, 
father,"  and  he  replied,  "  God  help  you, 
my  boy."  How  happy  we  should  have 
been  could  we  have  bidden  you,  "  Good 
night,  Maizie ! " 

42 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 


V 

February  24.  I  cannot  clearly  fix  the 
time  when  first  I  decided  upon  a  life  of 
letters,  and  presume  it  was  my  father's 
influence  which  determined  me.  After 
the  publication  of  my  first  article,  all  the 
time  I  could  spare  from  my  studies  was 
devoted  to  writing.  Most  of  it  was  mag 
azine  work,  but  two  text-books  were  more 
ambitious  flights.  Undertaken  at  my  fa 
ther's  suggestion,  the  books  were  revised 
by  him,  till  they  should  have  been  pub 
lished  with  his  name,  and  not  my  pseu 
donym,  on  the  title-page.  This  I  urged, 
but  he  would  not  hear  of  it,  insisting  that 
his  work  was  trivial  compared  with  mine. 
I  understand  his  motive  now,  and  see  how 
wise  and  loving  he  was  in  all  his  plans. 
Thanks  to  his  skill  in  clarifying  knowledge 
and  fitting  it  to  the  immature  mind,  both 
43 


THE   STORY   OF 

books  attained  a  large  sale  almost  imme 
diately  on  their  publication. 

My  father's  abnegation  went  further, 
and  occasioned  the  only  quarrel  we  ever 
had.  After  the  publication  of  several 
of  my  articles,  in  reading  the  Deutsche 
Rundschau  I  found  an  interesting  cri 
tique  signed  with  the  name  I  had  adopted 
as  a  pseudonym.  I  laughingly  called  my 
father's  attention  to  it,  yet  really  feeling 
a  little  sore  that  the  credit  of  my  work 
should  go  to  another,  for  the  first  literary 
offspring  are  very  dear  to  an  author's 
heart.  From  that  time  I  was  constantly 
meeting  with  the  name,  but  stupidly 
failed  to  recognize  my  father's  brilliant, 
luminous  touch  till  the  publication  of 
another  article  of  my  writing  revealed  the 
truth  to  me;  for  at  the  end  of  this  I 
found  again  my  pseudonym,  though  I  had 
signed  my  own  name.  On  my  sending 
an  indignant  letter  to  the  editor,  he  re 
turned  me  the  revised  proof  of  my  article, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  "Donald  Mait- 

44 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

land"  was  struck  out,  and  "Rudolph 
Hartzmann  "  substituted.  My  father  had 
made  the  change  in  the  last  revision,  and 
had  returned  the  sheets  without  letting 
me  see  them. 

In  a  moment  the  veil  was  gone  from  my 
eyes,  and,  grieved  and  angry,  I  charged 
him  with  the  deception.  I  do  not  like  to 
think  of  what  I  said  or  of  the  gentleness 
with  which  he  took  it.  The  next  day, 
when  I  was  cooler,  he  pleaded  with  me  to 
let  him  continue  signing  the  name  to  his 
articles  ;  but  I  insisted  that  I  would  not 
permit  the  double  use,  and  the  only  con 
cession  he  could  win  from  me  was  that  I 
would  still  keep  the  name  provided  he 
refrained  from  using  it  again.  How  could 
I  resist  his  "  Don,  I  never  asked  anything 
but  this  of  you.  I  am  an  old  man  with 
no  possibility  of  a  career.  You  are  all  I 
have  to  love  or  work  for  in  this  world. 
Let  me  try  to  help  you  gain  a  name." 
Oh,  father,  if  I  had  only  understood,  I 
would  not  have  been  so  cruel  as  to  deny 

45 


THE  STORY   OF 

your  request,  but  would  have  sacrificed 
my  own  honesty  and  allowed  the  lie  rather 
than  have  refused  what  now  I  know  to 
have  been  so  dear  a  wish.  I  even  resented 
what  I  thought  a  foolish  joke  of  his,  when 
he  registered  us  constantly  at  hotels  as 
"Rudolph  Hartzmann  and  father."  It  is 
poetic  justice  that  in  time  I  should  stoop 
to  so  much  greater  dishonesty  than  that 
which  I  was  intolerant  of  in  him. 

Owing  as  much  to  his  articles  as  to 
those  I  subsequently  wrote,  my  pseu 
donym  became  a  recognized  one  in  the 
world  of  letters,  and  my  work  soon  com 
manded  a  good  price.  Furthermore,  con 
siderable  interest  was  excited  as  to  the 
author.  There  is  a  keen  delight  in  anony 
mous  publication,  for  one  does  not  get  the 
one-sided  chatter  that  acknowledged  au 
thors  receive,  and  often  I  have  sat  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  litterateurs  and  schol 
ars  and  heard  my  articles  talked  over.  I 
was  tempted  even  to  discuss  one,  —  dis 
paraging  it,  of  course,  —  and  can  remenr 
46 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

her  the  way  my  father  hid  his  laughter 
when  a  member  of  the  party  said,  "  Mait- 
land,  you  ought  to  write  an  article  refuting 
Hartzmann,  for  you  Ve  got  the  knowledge 
to  do  it."  It  amuses  me  to  think  how  vain 
and  elated  I  became  over  what  now  I  see 
was  only  'prentice  work.  I  am  glad  you 
did  not  know  me  in  those  years  of  petty 
victory,  and  that  before  we  met  I  had 
been  saddened  and  humbled. 

Some  one  at  Mr.  Whitely's  dinner,  this 
winter,  asked  what  was  a  sufficient  in 
come,  and  you,  Maizie,  gravely  answered, 
"  A  little  more  than  one  has,"  which  made 
us  all  laugh.  If  you  had  not  been  the 
quicker  and  the  wittier,  and  thus  fore 
stalled  me,  I  should  have  said,  "Enough  to 
satisfy  the  few  or  many  wishes  each  per 
son  creates  within  himself  which  money 
can  satisfy."  Thanks  to  my  prize,  my 
writings,  and  the  profits  of  my  text-books, 
I  obtained  this.  In  fact,  the  three  so 
lengthened  my  purse  that  I  fancy  few 
millionaires  have  ever  felt  so  truly  rich ; 

47 


THE    STORY   OF 

for  I  was  enabled  to  gratify  my  greatest 
wish.  In  our  visits  to  Spain,  Italy,  and 
Constantinople,  I  had  garnered  all  that 
I  could  find  bearing  on  the  two  great 
race  movements  of  the  Moors  and  Turks, 
which  so  changed  the  world's  history  ; 
but  I  had  discovered  that  I  needed  more 
than  the  documentary  materials  to  write 
clearly  of  them.  I  longed  to  go  to  their 
source,  and  then  follow  the  channels  along 
which  those  racial  floods  had  rushed,  till, 
encountering  the  steel  armor  and  gun 
powder  of  Europe,  they  had  dashed  in 
scattered  spray,  never  to  gather  force 
again.  In  my  eagerness  I  had  been  for 
making  the  attempt  before,  but  my  father 
had  urged  our  limited  means  and  the 
shortness  of  my  university  vacations  as 
bars  to  my  wishes.  My  degree  removed 
the  one  objection,  and  my  earnings  and 
prize  the  other.  Few  persons  would  care 
to  undertake  the  travel  we  planned  with 
the  pittance  we  had  earned,  but  it  was 
enough  for  us.  How  fortunate  it  is  for 
48 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

me  that  my  student  life  and  travels  trained 
me  to  absolute  self-denial  and  frugality ! 
Otherwise  these  last  three  years  of  clos 
est  economy  and  niggardliness  would  have 
been  hard  to  bear. 

By  the  influence  of  Professor  Humzel, 
working  first  through  his  former  pupil, 
Baron  Weiseman,  secondly  through  Giers, 
and  thirdly  through  I  know  not  whom, 
we  secured  permission  to  join  a  Russian 
surveying  party,  and  thus  safely  and  ex- 
peditiously  reached  the  mountains  of  the 
Altai  range.  We  did  not  stay  with  the 
party  after  they  began  their  work,  but 
assuming  native  dress  we  turned  south 
ward  ;  plunging  instantly  among  the  med 
ley  of  peoples  and  tongues  which  actually 
realizes  the  mythical  Babel.  Turkish, 
Hebrew,  Arabic,  and  Sanskrit  I  had  mas 
tered  in  varying  degrees,  and  they  were 
an  "  open  sesame "  to  the  dialects  we 
encountered,  while  the  hot  sun  and  open- 
air  life  soon  colored  us  so  deeply  that  we 
passed  for  men  of  a  distant  but  not  alien 
49 


THE    STORY    OF 

race.  Following  nature's  routes,  once 
man's  only  paths,  we  wandered  leisurely  : 
to  Tashkend  on  horseback,  to  Bokhara  on 
foot,  by  boat  down  the  Amoo  to  Khiva, 
and  on  to  Teheran,  then  by  caravan  to 
Bagdad,  up  the  Euphrates,  gradually 
working  through  Asia  Minor.  Stopping 
at  Smyrna  for  a  brief  rest,  we  took  boat 
to  Cyprus,  from  thence  crossed  to  Damas 
cus,  and  from  Jerusalem  traveled  along 
the  caravan  route  to  Mecca.  Passing 
over  the  Red  Sea  to  Egypt,  we  skirted 
the  south  coast  of  the  Mediterranean,  till 
we  reached  the  Pillars  of  Hercules. 

You  ought  to  have  made  that  pilgrim 
age.  In  speaking  of  my  book  you  ex 
pressed  the  wish  that  you  might  make 
such  a  trip,  and  those  years  would  have 
been  as  great  a  playtime  to  you  as  to 
us.  You  could  have  borne  the  exposure, 
rough  though  the  life  was,  and  it  would 
have  been  as  compound  oxygen  to  your 
brave  and  venturesome  nature.  I  confess 
I  do  not  like  to  think  of  that  dazzlingly 
5° 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

pure  skin  burned  to  any  such  blackness 
as  I  saw  in  my  mirror  on  reaching  the 
end  of  our  journeyings  ;  for  truly  no  bet 
ter  Arab  in  verisimilitude  strolled  about 
the  native  quarter  of  Tangier  in  May, 
1886,  than  Donald  Maitland. 

My  long  study  of  those  older  races  and 
three  years'  life  spent  among  them  have 
not  made  me  accept  their  dogma  of  fatal 
ism,  yet  I  must  believe  that  something 
stronger  than  chance  produced  our  meet 
ing  in  that  Moorish  town.  Down  streams, 
over  mountains,  and  across  deserts,  seas, 
and  oceans,  our  paths  had  converged ;  on 
foot,  mounted,  by  rail  or  boat,  we  came 
together  as  if  some  hidden  magnet  were 
drawing  us  both.  A  thousand  chances 
were  against  our  meeting,  even  when  we 
were  in  the  same  town ;  for  you  were 
housed  in  the  best  hotel,  while  we  lodged 
in  a  little  Jewish  place  in  the  Berber 
quarter.  In  another  day  my  father  and 
I  should  have  crossed  to  Spain,  without 
so  much  as  a  visit  to  the  European  sec- 
Si 


THE    STORY    OF 

tion.  But  for  that  meeting  I  should  have 
returned  to  Leipzig,  and  passed  a  con 
tented  life  as  a  Herr  Doctor  and  Pro 
fessor  ;  for  though  my  heart  was  still 
warm  with  love  of  you,  it  had  been  de 
nied  and  starved  too  long  to  have  the 
strength  to  draw  me  from  the  path  my 
head  had  marked  out.  Yet  I  would  not 
now  accept  the  unemotional  and  peaceful 
career  I  had  planned  in  lieu  of  my  pres 
ent  life ;  for  if  my  love  is  without  hope, 
it  is  still  love,  and  though  you  turned 
me  away  from  your  door  with  far  less 
courtesy  than  you  would  shut  out  a  beg 
gar,  yet  I  am  near  you  and  see  you  con 
stantly,  and  that  is  worth  more  to  me 
than  peace.  Good-night,  my  love.  God 
bless  you. 

5* 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 


VI 


February  25.  It  was  thought  of  you 
which  led  to  our  meeting.  After  the 
evening  meal  of  dried  salt  fish,  pancakes, 
dates,  and  coffee,  my  father  and  I  wan 
dered  out  to  the  Sok,  and,  as  was  our 
wont,  sat  down  among  the  people.  Re 
fusing  the  hasheesh  water  and  sweet 
meats  which  the  venders  urged  upon  us, 
"to  make  you  dream  of  your  love  joy 
fully,"  we  listened  to  the  story-tellers  and 
the  singers.  Some  one  with  a  fine  natu 
ral  voice  sang  presently  an  Arabic  love- 
song  :  — 

"  My  love,  so  lovely  yet  so  cruel, 
Why  came  you  so  to  torture  me  ? 
Could  I  but  know  the  being  who 
Has  caused  you  thus  to  hate  me  I 
Once  I  saw  and  gazed  upon  your  lovely  form  each 

hour, 
But  now  you  ever  shun  me. 

S3 


THE   STORY   OF 

Yet  still  each  night  you  come  in  dreams 
For  me  to  ask,  Who  sent  you  ? 
Your  answer  is,  Him  whom  I  love, 
And  you  bid  me  then  forget  my  passion. 
But  I  reply,  If  it  was  not  for  love,  how  could  the  world 
go  on  ? " 

It  was  a  song  I  had  heard  and  loved  in 
many  lands  and  many  dialects,  but  that 
night  it  stirred  me  deeply,  and  brought 
to  mind  your  image,  ever  dear.  I  sat 
and  dreamed  of  you  till  the  farrago  about 
me  became  unbearable ;  and  whispering 
a  word  to  my  father,  I  rose  and  strode 
away,  with  a  yearning  truly  mastering.  I 
could  have  had  no  thought  that  you  were 
near,  for  when  we  stood  far  closer  I  was 
still  unconscious  of  your  presence.  But 
if  not  an  intuition,  I  ask  what  could  it 
be? 

Wandering  through  the  narrow  streets 
without  purpose  or  goal,  I  presently  saw 
looming  above  me  the  great  hill  on  which 
stands  the  Alcassaba.  Climbing  in  the 
brilliant  moonlight  up  the  steep  and  ill- 
conditioned  road,  and  passing  that  jumble 
54 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

of  buildings  upon  which  so  many  races 
and  generations  have  left  their  impress, 
I  strolled  along  the  wall  to  a  ruined  em 
brasure  at  the  corner  overlooking  the  sea. 
How  long  I  stood  there  leaning  upon  the 
parapet  I  do  not  know.  Not  till  you  were 
close  upon  me  was  I  conscious  that  my 
solitude  was  ended. 

I  heard  footsteps,  but  was  too  incuri 
ous  to  turn  and  glance  at  the  intruders. 
Nay,  more,  when  that  harsh,  strident, 
American  voice  demanded,  "There,  isn't 
that  great?"  I  felt  so  irritated  by  both 
tone  and  words  that  but  for  the  seem 
ing  rudeness  I  should  have  moved  away 
at  once.  You  spoke  so  low  I  could  not 
hear  your  reply,  and  I  wonder  what  you 
said, — for  his  "great"  applied  to  such 
beauty  must  have  rasped  much  more 
on  your  artistic  sense  than  it  did  on 
mine. 

"  And  this  black  fellow  in  the  turban 
standing   here,"    continued   the   strident 
voice,  "  he  fits,  too,  like  the  paper  on  the 
55 


THE    STORY    OF 

wall,  though  probably  he 's  a  sentry  tak« 
ing  forty  winks  on  the  sly.  It  makes  an 
American  mad  to  see  how  slack  things 
are  run  over  here." 

I  heard  a  gentle  "  Hush,"  and  then  a 
murmur  as  you  went  on  speaking. 

"  None  of  these  black  fellows  speak 
English,"  came  the  self-assured  voice 
again.  Then,  though  I  could  have  heard 
his  natural  tone  full  fifty  feet  away,  the 
man  called  much  louder  :  "  Hey  !  what 's 
the  name  of  that  point  out  there  ?  " 

I  should  have  chosen  to  make  no  an 
swer  ;  but  remembering  the  courtesy  and 
dignity  of  the  race  I  was  impersonating, 
I  replied  without  turning,  "  Cape  Spar- 
tel." 

You  must  have  said  something,  for  a 
moment  later  he  laughed,  saying,  "Not 
a  bit  of  it.  Now  see  me  jolly  him  up." 
I  heard  footsteps,  and  then  some  one 
leaned  against  the  parapet,  close  beside 
me.  "  Backsheesh,"  he  intimated,  and 
jingled  some  coins  in  his  pocket 
56 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

I  stood  silent,  so  he  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder  and  asked,  "Are  you  one  of 
the  palace  guards  ? "  Unsuppressed  by 
my  monosyllabic  "  No,"  he  persisted  by 
saying,  "What's  your  business,  then?" 
jingling  his  coins  again.  "Stop  pulling 
me,  Mai,"  he  added,  as  an  aside. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  Tangier,"  I  an 
swered  quietly. 

"  From  whereabouts  ? "  he  questioned. 

"The  East." 

"  Oh,  you  're  one  of  the  wise  men,  are 
you?"  he  observed  jocosely.  "Are  you 
a  Jew  or  a  Mohammedan  ?  " 

"  Not  the  latter,  fortunately  for  you." 

"And  why  fortunately  ? "  he  nagged. 

"  Because  a  true  believer  would  have 
taken  the  question  as  a  deadly  insult." 

"  They  'd  be  welcome,"  he  laughed, 
"  though  it  is  rather  irritating  to  be  mis 
taken  for  a  Jew.  I  should  n't  like  it  my 
self." 

I  thought  of  the  dignified  Jew  traders 
who  had  made  part  of  our  caravan  in  the 
57 


THE   STORY    OF 

journey  from  Bagdad  to  Damascus,  and 
answered,  "There  is  little  danger  of 
that." 

"  I  guess  not,"  he  assented.  "  But  if 
you  are  n't  a  Jew  or  a  Mohammedan,  what 
are  you  ?  " 

He  had  spoiled  my  mood,  and  since  it 
was  gone  I  thought  I  would  amuse  my 
self  with  the  man.  "  A  seeker  of  know 
ledge  from  the  Altai  Mountains,"  I  re 
sponded. 

"  Never  heard  of  them,"  he  announced ; 
"  or  is  it  your  Choctaw  for  those  ? "  he 
added,  pointing  towards  the  dark  masses 
of  the  Atlas  Mountains. 

I  smiled  and  answered,  "  They  are 
many  moons'  travel  from  here." 

"Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  did  you 
happen  to  come  ? " 

"  To  follow  after  those  gone  before. " 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  Relatives,  I  sup 
pose  ?  Hope  you  found  them  well  ? " 

"  No,"  I  replied,  carrying  on  the  humor, 
"dying." 

58 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

He  jingled  his  coins,  and  asked,  "Any 
thing  to  be  done  for  them  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"  What 's  the  complaint  ? " 

"  Civilization  in  the  abstract,  repeating 
rifles  and  rapid-firing  guns  in  the  con 
crete." 

"  Eh  !  "  he  ejaculated. 

Then  the  lowest  and  sweetest  of  voices 
said,  "Won't  you  tell  us  what  you 
mean  ?  " 

Was  it  my  irritation  that  the  man  be 
fore  me,  rather  than  the  subtler-passioned 
people  I  knew  so  well,  was  the  dominant 
type  of  the  moment,  or  was  it  the  sym 
pathy  your  voice  stirred  within  me,  which 
made  me  speak  ?  In  a  moment  I  was 
sketching  broadly  the  inhumanity  of  this 
thing  we  call  Christian  civilization,  which, 
more  grasping  than  the  Inquisition,  has 
overrun  the  world,  tearing  the  lands  from 
their  owners,  and,  not  content  with  this 
spoliation,  demands  of  its  victims  that 
they  shall  give  up  the  customs  of  many 
59 


THE    STORY   OF 

centuries'  evolution,  and  conform  to  hab 
its,  governments,  and  religions  which  their 
very  instincts  make  impossible  ;  and  be 
cause  they  cannot  change,  but  break  out, 
these  believers  in  the  golden  rule  shoot 
them  down.  I  protested  at  the  mockery 
of  calling  civilized  a  world  held  at  peace 
by  constant  slaughter,  or  of  styling  the 
national  Jack  Ketches  of  humanity  Chris 
tian  nations  !  I  protested  against  the 
right  of  one  man  to  hold  another  barbaric 
because  he  will  not  welcome  his  master, 
greet  with  joy  the  bands  of  steel  we  call 
railroads,  and  crush  his  nature  within  the 
walls  of  vast  factories,  to  make  himself 
the  threefold  slave  of  society,  govern 
ment,  and  employer.  And  finally,  I  glo 
ried  in  the  fact  that  though  the  white 
races  had  found  a  weapon  against  the 
black  and  yellow  ones  which  enabled 
them  to  overrun  and  subjugate,  yet  na 
ture  had  provided  nature's  people  with 
the  defense  of  climate,  —  a  death-line  to 
the  whites  ;  and  behind  that  line  the  col- 
60 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

ored  races  are  unconquerable  in  the  sense 
of  conquest  being  extinction.  I  knew 
the  other  side,  that  altruistic  tenet  of  po 
litical  economy  defined  in  brief  as  "  the 
greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number," 
and  in  my  mind  held  the  even  balance  of 
the  historian  between  the  two  ;  but  to  this 
utilitarian,  modern,  self-satisfied  Ameri 
can  I  had  to  urge  the  rights  of  races 
thousands  of  years  our  senior,  and  far 
in  advance  of  us  in  the  knowledge  and 
amenities  that  make  life  worth  the  most. 

You  both  were  silent  till  I  ended ;  but 
I  had  best  left  unspoken  what  your  com 
panion  could  not  understand,  for  when 
I  finished  he  inquired,  "  What  mountains 
did  you  say  you  came  from  ? "  And 
when  I  told  him,  he  added  laughingly, 
"You  must  have  some  pretty  good  stump 
speaking  in  your  elections." 

"We  are  very  grateful  for  your  expla 
nation,"  you  thanked  me  gently. 

"  Never  been  in  America  ?  "  he  sur 
mised  ;  and  except  for  you  I  should  have 
61 


THE   STORY   OF 

told  him  that  I  was  his  countryman,  it 
would  have  been  so  adequate  a  retort  to 
his  inference.  But  your  voice  and  man 
ner  had  made  me  so  ashamed  of  my  earliei 
mood  that  I  merely  answered,  "  Yes." 

"Humph!"  he  grunted  in  surprise; 
and  as  if  to  prove  his  incorrigibility  he 
continued,  "  Thought  your  ideas  were  too 
back-number  for  that." 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  and  the  mo 
ment  my  laugh  became  articulate  yours 
too  overflowed  your  lips,  as  a  spring 
breaks  past  its  edges  and  falls  rippling 
over  pebbles. 

That  laugh,  so  well  remembered,  re 
vealed  your  presence  to  me.  My  heart 
beat  quickly  and  my  head  whirled  dizzily, 
and  n  my  bewilderment  I  took  a  step 
backward,  quite  forgetting  the  embrasure, 
till  a  stone  gave  way  and  I  felt  that  I  was 
falling.  Then  my  consciousness  went 
from  me,  and  when  thought  came  surging 
backward  I  lay  a  moment  quiet,  thinking 
it  must  have  been  a  dream. 
62 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  He  's  coming  round  all  right,"  I 
heard,  and  at  the  sound  I  opened  my 
eyes.  You  were  leaning  over  me  with 
the  moonlight  shining  on  your  face,  and 
I  caught  my  breath,  you  were  so  beau 
tiful. 

"  You  Ve  given  us  a  scare,"  continued 
the  man,  on  whose  knee  my  head  was 
resting.  "  You  want  to  keep  your  wits 
about  you  better.  Pretty  poor  business 
tumbling  off  walls,  but  that 's  what  comes 
of  having  ruins.  You  won't  be  quite  so 
cocky  in  the  future  about  your  run-out 
races." 

I  felt  his  laughter  justified,  but  hardly 
heeded  it,  my  thoughts  were  so  engaged. 
You  were  wetting  my  forehead  with 
brandy,  and  I  lay  there  too  happy  to 
speak. 

"  Now  let  me  raise  you  a  bit  higher," 
the  man  offered  kindly,  "  so  you  can  get 
your  addled  senses  back."  He  lifted  me, 
and  I  groaned  at  the  sudden  terrible  pain 
that  shot  up  my  leg. 
63 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  Hello  !  "  he  cried,  laying  me  gently 
down.  "  Something  wrong,  after  all  ? 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"My  leg,"  I  moaned. 

"Here,  Maizie,  hold  his  head,  while 
I  appoint  an  investigating  committee," 
he  ordered,  and  in  another  moment  I 
felt  your  arms  about  me,  and  in  my  joy 
at  your  touch  I  almost  forgot  my  tor 
ture. 

"  Well,  you  've  broken  one  of  your 
walking-sticks,"  the  man  informed  me, 
after  a  gentler  touching  of  it  than  I 
thought  possible  to  his  nature.  "Now, 
Maizie,  if  you'll  sit  and  hold  his  head, 
I  '11  get  a  litter.  You  won't  mind  staying 
here  alone,  will  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  wish,"  you  acceded  calmly. 

"O.  K.,"  he  said,  rising,  and  even  in 
his  kindness  he  could  not  help  but  seize 
the  opportunity  to  glorify  his  country. 
"  If  this  had  happened  in  New  York,  Mr. 
Altai,  we  'd  have  had  an  ambulance  here 
five  minutes  ago !  Civilization  is  n't  all 
64 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

bad,  I  tell  you,  as  you  'd  find  out  if  you  'd 
give  it  a  chance." 

The  moment  he  was  gone  I  tried  to 
speak,  and  murmured  "  Maizie  ;  "  but  you 
let  me  get  no  further,  saying  "  Hush," 
and  putting  your  hand  softly  over  my 
lips.  I  suppose  you  thought  me  merely 
repeating  the  name  he  had  called  you, 
while  I  loved  your  touch  too  deeply  to 
resist  the  hand  I  longed  to  kiss.  Now  I 
am  glad  I  did  not  speak,  for  if  I  had  it 
would  have  robbed  me  of  my  last  sweet 
moment  with  you. 

Long  before  I  thought  it  possible,  and 
far  too  soon,  indeed,  despite  my  suffering, 
we  heard  men  approaching.  When  the 
torch-bearers  came  climbing  over  the 
rocks,  my  first  desire  was  to  see  how 
much  of  your  beauty  was  owing  to  the 
moonlight,  and  my  heart  leaped  with  ex 
ultation  to  find  that  you  were  beautiful 
even  in  the  livid  glare  of  the  torches. 

"Now,  Mr.  Altai,"  your  companion 
remarked,  "  where  shall  we  take  you  ?  " 
6s 


THE   STORY   OF 

and  I  gave  him  the  name  of  the  hotel.  A 
moment  later,  as  they  lifted  me,  I  again 
fainted,  but  not  till  I  had  kissed  your 
hand.  You  snatched  it  away,  and  did  not 
hear  my  weakly  whispered  "  Good-night, 
Maizie." 

66 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 


VII 

February  26.  The  setting  of  my  leg, 
that  night,  was  so  long  and  exhausting 
an  operation  that  after  it  was  done  I  was 
given  an  opiate.  Instead  of  bringing  ob 
livion  the  drug  produced  a  dreamy  con 
dition,  in  which  I  was  cognizant  of  no 
thing  that  happened  about  me,  and  saw 
only  your  face.  I  knew  I  ought  to  sleep, 
and  did  my  best  to  think  of  other  things ; 
but  try  as  I  might,  my  thought  would 
return  and  dwell  upon  your  beauty. 

I  have  often  wished  I  had  been  born 
an  artist,  that  I  might  try  to  paint  your 
portrait,  for  words  can  no  more  picture 
you  than  they  can  transmit  the  fragrance 
of  a  violet.  Indeed,  to  me  the  only  word 
which  even  expresses  your  charm  is  "ra 
diant,"  and  that  to  others,  who  have  never 
seen  you,  would  suggest  little.  No  real 
67 


THE    STORY    OF 

beauty  can  be  described,  for  it  rests  in 
nothing  that  is  tangible.  In  truth,  to 
speak  of  your  glorious  hair,  the  white 
ness  of  your  brow  and  throat,  the  brilliant 
softness  of  your  eyes,  or  the  sweetness 
yet  strength  of  your  tender  though  un 
smiling  lips  is  to  make  but  a  travesty  of 
description.  I  have  heard  painters  talk 
of  your  hair  and  try  to  convey  an  idea  of 
its  beauty,  but  I  know  it  too  well  even  to 
make  the  attempt.  When  we  were  gaz 
ing  at  the  rainbow,  last  autumn,  and  you 
said  that  if  its  tints  could  be  transferred 
to  a  palette  you  believed  it  would  be  pos 
sible  to  paint  anything,  I  could  not  help 
correcting,  "Except  your  hair."  You 
laughed,  and  declared,  "  I  did  not  know 
you  ever  made  that  kind  of  a  speech  !  " 
whereupon  Agnes  cried,  "  Did  n't  I  ever 
tell  you,  Maizie,  the  compliment  the  doc 
tor  paid  you  last  winter  ?  "  I  thought  she 
was  alluding  to  my  retort  when  my  mo 
ther  asserted  that  your  eyes  were  so 
large  and  lustrous  that,  to  her,  they  were 
68 


AN   UNTOLD    LOVE 

"positively  loud."  Indignant  at  such  a 
remark,  Agnes  had  appealed  to  me  to 
deny  it.  Not  caring  to  treat  the  mali 
cious  speech  seriously,  I  had  answered 
that  I  could  not  agree,  though  I  had 
sometimes  thought  your  eyes  "  too  dressy 
for  the  daytime,"  — a  joke  I  have  heard 
so  often  quoted  that  it  is  apparently  in 
a  measure  descriptive,  yet  one  which 
I  should  have  felt  mortified  at  hearing 
repeated  to  you.  Fortunately  Agnes's 
reference  was  to  another  remark  of  mine, 
in  which,  speaking  of  your  mouth,  I  had 
crudely  translated  a  couple  of  lines  from  a 
Persian  poem :  — 

"  In  vain  you  strive  to  speak  a  bitter  word,  — 
It  meets  the  sweetness  of  your  lips  ere  it  is  heard." 

You  were  too  used  to  compliments  to 
be  embarrassed  when  the  lines  were  re 
peated,  and  only  looked  at  me  in  a  puz 
zled  way.  I  do  not  wonder  you  were 
surprised  at  the  implied  admiration  of  the 
two  speeches,  after  my  apparent  coldness 
and  indifference.  My  behavior  must  seem 
69 


THE   STORY   OF 

to  you  as  full  of  contradictions  as  your 
beauty  is  to  me.  To  say  your  great  at 
traction  is  the  radiance  —  the  verve, 
spirit,  and  capacity  for  enthusiasm  —  of 
which  one  cannot  fail  to  be  conscious  is 
to  deny  the  calm  dignity  with  which  you 
bear  yourself,  yet  both  these  qualities 
belong  to  you.  The  world  insists  that 
you  are  proud  and  distant,  and  your  face 
has  the  clean-cut  features  which  we  asso 
ciate  with  patrician  blood,  while  your 
height  and  figure,  and  the  set  and  car 
riage  of  your  head  upon  that  slender 
throat,  suggest  a  goddess.  But  I,  who 
understand  you  so  much  better  than  the 
world,  know  that  your  proud  face  overlies 
the  tenderest  of  natures,  and  is  not  an 
index,  but  a  mask  of  feelings  you  do  not 
care  to  show.  As  for  the  people  who 
criticise  you  most,  they  would  be  the  last 
to  do  so  if  they  were  not  conscious  of  the 
very  superiority  they  try  to  lessen.  —  Ah, 
how  foolish  it  is  to  write  all  this,  as  if  I 
needed  to  convince  myself  of  what  I  know 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

^o  well !  And  even  if  this  were  for  the 
eye  of  others,  to  those  who  know  you  not 
it  would  be  but  the  extravagant  idealism 
for  which  a  lover  is  proverbial. 

When  I  awoke  from  the  sleep  my 
dreaming  had  drifted  into,  my  first  re 
quest  of  my  father  was  to  find  your 
whereabouts.  He  told  me  that  a  drago 
man  had  come  that  morning  to  inquire 
for  me,  and  had  left  what  now  he  showed 
me,  —  a  great  bunch  of  roses  and  a  bas 
ket  of  fruit,  with  the  card  of  "  Mr.  Foster 
G.  Blodgett,  547  Fifth  Avenue,"  on  the 
back  of  which  was  written  :  — 

"  With  sincere  regrets  that  a  previously 
formed  plan  of  leaving  Tangier  this  morn 
ing  prevents  our  seeing  our  courteous  in 
structor  of  last  night,  and  with  hopes  that 
he  may  have  a  quick  and  easy  recovery 
from  his  accident." 

The  card  was  a  man's,  but  the  hand 
writing  was  feminine,  and  the  moment 
my  father  turned  his  back  I  kissed  it. 
I  was  further  told  that  the  servant  had 
71 


THE    STORY    OF 

asked  my  name  and  taken  it  down,  giv 
ing  me  the  instant  hope  that  when  you 
knew  to  whom  you  had  been  so  merci 
ful,  you  would  even  disarrange  your  plans 
to  let  me  have  a  moment's  glimpse  of 
you.  But  though  I  listened  all  the  after 
noon  hopefully  and  expectantly,  you  never 
came.  I  felt  such  shyness  about  you,  I 
did  not  speak  to  my  father  of  your  beauty, 
and  he  did  not  question  me  at  all. 

Our  native  hotel,  built  in  Eastern  fash 
ion  about  a  court,  with  only  blank  out 
side  walls,  was  no  place  in  which  to  pass 
a  long  invalidism,  and  three  days  later 
my  father  had  me  carried  to  the  steamer, 
and,  crossing  to  Gibraltar,  we  traveled 
by  easy  railroad  trips  to  Leipzig.  We 
had  left  our  belongings  with  Jastrow, 
and  he  begged  us,  on  our  arrival,  to  be 
come  members  of  his  household,  which 
we  were  only  too  glad  to  do  for  a  time. 
His  joy  over  my  return  was  most  touch 
ing,  and  he  and  Humzel  both  seemed  to 
regard  me  very  much  as  if  I  were  the 
72 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

creation  of  their  own  brains,  who  was  to 
bring  them  immortal  fame  in  time.  My 
father  had  long  before  counseled  me  to 
be  a  pursuer  of  knowledge,  and  not  of 
money  ;  telling  me  the  winning  of  the 
latter  narrowed  the  intellect  and  stunted 
the  finer  qualities  of  one's  nature,  mak 
ing  all  men  natural  enemies,  while  the 
acquisition  of  the  former  broadened  one's 
mind,  developed  the  nobility  within,  and 
engendered  love  of  one's  associates. 
These  two  men  illustrated  his  theory, 
and  had  my  tendency  been  avaricious  I 
think  their  unselfish  love  and  example 
would  have  made  me  otherwise.  And 
yet,  how  dare  I  claim  to  be  free  from 
sordidness,  when  all  my  thoughts  and 
hopes  and  daily  life  are  now  bent  on 
winning  money  ? 

My  leg  was  far  too  troublesome  to  per 
mit  me  to  sit  at  a  desk,  but  my  father 
insisted  on  being  my  scribe ;  and  thus, 
lying  on  a  lounge,  I  began  part  of  the 
work  I  had  so  long  planned,  taking  up 
73 


THE    STORY   OF 

for  my  first  book  the  Turkish  irruption, 
the  crusades  against  the  Saracens,  and 
their  subsequent  history.  Thinking  so 
much  of  you,  both  as  the  child  who  had 
won  my  boyish  heart  and  as  the  beautiful 
woman  whose  face  had  fascinated  and 
moved  me  so  deeply,  I  do  not  know  how, 
except  for  my  work,  I  should  have  lived 
through  those  long  and  weary  months  of 
enforced  inaction  while  my  leg  so  slowly 
knit. 

More  as  recreation  from  this  serious 
endeavor  than  as  supplementary  labor,  I 
gathered  the  articles  I  had  written  for  the 
Deutsche  Rundshau  and  the  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes  from  time  to  time  in  our 
travels,  and  with  new  material  from  my 
journal  I  worked  the  whole  into  a  popular 
account  of  what  we  had  seen  and  done. 
While  I  still  used  a  walking-stick  I  was 
reading  proof  of  the  German  edition,  and 
my  English  replica,  rather  than  transla 
tion,  was  under  negotiation  through  my 
publisher  for  London  and  New  York 

74 


AN   UNTOLD  LOVE 

editions.  My  father,  who  busied  himself 
with  a  French  version,  insisted  that  the 
book  would  be  a  great  success,  and  the 
articles  under  my  assumed  name  had 
been  so  well  noticed  that  I  was  myself 
hopeful  of  what  better  work  in  book  form 
might  do  for  my  reputation ;  for  against 
his  advice,  I  had  determined  to  abandon 
my  pseudonym. 

But  all  these  schemes  and  hopes  were 
forgotten  in  the  illness  of  my  father. 
Contrary  to  my  wishes,  he  had  over 
worked  himself  in  the  French  transla 
tion,  while  his  life,  for  months  of  my 
enforced  inactivity,  had  been  one  long 
service,  impossible  for  me  to  avoid  or 
refuse  without  giving  him  pain.  This 
double  exertion  proved  too  great  a  strain. 
The  day  after  he  sent  the  manuscript  to 
Paris,  as  he  sat  conning  the  sheets  of  the 
concluding  chapter  of  my  history,  he  laid 
them  down  without  a  word,  and,  leaning 
forward,  quietly  rested  his  head  upon  the 
table.  I  was  by  his  side  and  had  him  on 
75 


THE    STORY    OF 

the  sofa  in  an  instant,  where  he  lay  un 
conscious  till  the  doctor  came.  We  were 
told  that  it  was  a  slight  stroke,  and  by 
the  next  day  he  seemed  quite  well.  But 
slowly  he  lost  the  use  of  one  side,  and 
within  a  week  was  helpless.  I  like  to  re 
member  that  I  was  well  enough  to  tend 
him  as  he  had  tended  me.  He  lingered 
for  a  month,  sweet  and  gentle  as  always  ; 
then,  one  evening,  as  I  sat  beside  him, 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  said,  "  Good 
night,  Don.  Good-night,  Maizie."  And 
with  those  words  his  loving  soul  went 
back  to  its  Creator. 

I  found  about  his  neck  a  ribbon  to 
which  was  attached  a  locket  containing 
the  long  tress  you  cut  off  for  him  that 
day  in  the  Bois,  one  of  my  mother's 
curls,  and  a  little  tow-colored  lock  which 
I  suppose  was  my  own  hair  before  it 
darkened,  —  a  locket  I  have  since  worn 
unchanged,  because,  sadly  discordant 
though  such  association  has  become,  I 
cannot  bring  myself  to  separate  what  he 
76 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

tied  together.  It  seems  to  symbolize  his 
love  for  all  of  us. 

The  kindness  of  my  friends  I  can 
never  forget.  I  was  so  broken  down  as 
really  to  be  unfit  for  thought,  and  their 
generous  foresight  did  everything  pos 
sible  to  spare  me  trouble  or  pain.  Es 
pecially  to  Professor  and  Frau  Jastrow 
do  I  owe  an  unpayable  debt,  for  they 
made  me  feel  that  there  was  still  some 
one  in  whose  love  I  stood  first ;  and  had 
I  been  the  child  who  had  never  come  to 
them,  I  question  if  they  could  have  done 
more  for  me  than  they  did. 

One  thing  that  I  had  to  do  myself  was 
to  notify  my  mother  of  my  father's  death. 
From  the  time  she  had  quitted  us  my 
father  and  I  had  avoided  mention  of  her ; 
but  during  his  illness  he  asked  me  to 
write  in  case  of  his  death,  and  gave  me 
her  New  York  address,  from  which  I  in 
ferred  that  in  some  way  he  had  kept 
himself  informed  concerning  her,  though 
I  feel  very  certain  that  she  had  never 

77 


THE   STORY   OP 

written  him.  That  I  had  never  tried  to 
learn  anything  myself  was  due  to  the  es 
trangement,  but  still  more  to  my  interest 
in  my  studies  and  work.  Now  I  wrote 
her,  as  I  had  promised,  telling  her  briefly 
the  circumstances  of  my  father's  illness 
and  death,  and  offering  to  write  fuller 
details  if  she  wished  to  know  them.  I 
would  not  feign  love  for  her,  but  I  wrote 
tenderly  of  him  and  without  coldness  to 
her.  She  never  replied. 

Kind  as  were  all  my  intimates,  I  craved 
more  than  friendship,  however  loving  it 
might  be.  One  of  the  two  great  loves 
of  my  life  had  gone  out  from  it,  and,  in 
the  gap  it  left,  the  other  became  doubly 
dear  to  me.  The  wish  to  see  you  grew 
and  strengthened  each  day,  until  at  last 
it  shaped  my  plans,  and  I  announced  my 
intention  to  visit  America  ;  making  the 
specious  explanation  that,  after  my  long 
invalidism  and  grief,  the  change  would  be 
the  best  specific  for  me. 

At  this  time  I  received  the  offer  of 
78 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

appointment  as  professor  extraordinarily 
of  philology  and  ethnology  under  Jas- 
trow,  another  manifestation  of  his  love ; 
but  till  I  had  seen  you  I  would  not  bind 
myself  by  accepting,  and  through  his  in 
fluence  I  was  given  three  months  to  con 
sider  my  answer.  I  seem  doomed  never 
to  requite  the  services  of  those  I  love 
the  most,  but  I  am  glad  that  in  the  nine 
months  which  I  passed  under  his  roof 
my  knowledge  of  the  Eastern  dialects 
had  pushed  his  work  so  much  nearer 
completion. 

Leaving  all  my  possessions  behind 
except  the  manuscript  of  my  history,  I 
started  on  my  voyage  of  love.  For  two 
days  I  tarried  in  Paris,  settling  my  little 
property.  I  had  long  known  that  the 
flotsam  of  my  father's  fortune,  wrecked 
in  Wall  Street,  was  a  few  bonds  depos 
ited  with  Paris  bankers ;  and  when  I 
called  upon  the  firm  it  was  merely  to 
continue  the  old  arrangement,  by  which 
they  cut  the  coupons  and  placed  them 

79 


THE   STORY    OF 

to  my  bank  credit.  It  was  in  this  visit 
that  I  searched  out  our  old  pension,  and 
sat  dreaming  in  the  park.  How  could 
I  imagine,  remembering  those  days  of 
closest  love  and  sympathy,  and  knowing 
too  your  kindness  to  one  you  thought 
a  mere  Eastern  stroller,  that  you  could 
have  changed  so  to  your  former  friend  ? 

The  most  curious  fact  to  me,  in  look 
ing  back  upon  that  time,  is  that  the  idea 
never  occurred  to  me  that  you  were  a 
married  woman.  It  never  entered  my 
thoughts  that  a  beauty  which  fascinated 
and  drew  me  so  far  from  my  natural  or 
bit  must  be  an  equally  powerful  charm  to 
other  men.  As  for  Mr.  Blodgett,  I  never 
gave  him  a  second  thought,  not  even  ac 
counting  for  his  relations  with  you.  My 
foolishness,  I  suppose,  is  typical  of  the 
scholar's  abstraction  and  impracticality. 

As  the  steamer  neared  New  York,  my 

impatience  to   see  you  increased  apace. 

Far  from   longing  for  our   old   ten-day 

passage,  I  found  a  voyage  of  seven  days 

80 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

too  long.  Ridiculous  as  it  may  seem,  I 
almost  lost  my  temper  at  the  slowness 
of  the  customs  examination.  I  believe  I 
was  half  mad,  and  only  marvel  that  I  did 
so  sane  a  thing  as  to  go  to  a  hotel,  change 
my  clothes,  and  dine,  before  attempting 
to  see  you. 

I  ascertained  Mr.  Walton's  address  the 
moment  I  reached  my  hotel,  and  sent  a 
messenger  there  to  inquire  your  where 
abouts.  He  brought  me  back  word  that 
Mr.  Walton  was  absent  from  the  city, 
but  the  servant  had  informed  him  that 
you  still  lived  with  your  uncle  and  that 
you  were  in  town. 

I  cannot  tell  you  the  surprise  and  joy 
I  felt  when,  on  arriving  at  your  house 
on  Madison  Avenue  that  evening,  I  dis 
covered  it  to  be  our  old  habitat.  It 
seemed  as  if  your  selection  of  that  as 
your  home,  probably  from  sentiment, 
was  a  bow  of  promise  for  the  future,  and 
I  rang  the  bell,  almost  trembling  with 
emotion  and  happiness. 

Si 


THE   STORY   OF 

The  footman  showed  me  to  the  draw- 
ing-room  and  took  my  card.  All  inside, 
so  far  as  I  could  see,  was  changed  past 
the  point  of  recognition,  but  everything 
was  beautiful,  and  I  felt  in  that  one  room 
that  no  decorator's  conventional  taste  had 
formed  its  harmony,  but  that  an  artistic 
sense  had  planned  the  whole.  What  a 
contrast  it  was  to  the  old  days  of  untaste- 
f ul  and  untidy  richness ! 

I  sat  but  a  moment  before  the  footman 
returned.  Looking  not  at  me,  but  over 
my  head,  and  with  an  attitude  and  air 
as  deferential  as  if  I  were  the  guest  of 
all  others  most  welcome,  he  said,  "  Miss 
Walton  declines  the  honor  of  Mr.  Mait- 
land's  acquaintance,  and  begs  to  be  ex 
cused." 

The  blow  came  so  suddenly,  and  was 
so  crushing,  that  for  a  moment  I  lost  my 
dignity.  "There  must  be  some  mis 
take  ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  gave  Miss 
Walton  my  card  ? " 

The  footman  only  bowed  assent. 
82 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  Go  to  Miss  Walton  and  say  I  must 
see  her  a  moment." 

"  Miss  Walton  instructed  me  to  add, 
in  case  Mr.  Maitland  persisted,  that  she 
prefers  to  hold  no  intercourse  with  Mr. 
Maitland  and  will  receive  no  messages 
from  him." 

Pride  came  to  my  rescue,  and  I  passed 
silently  into  the  hall.  The  servant 
opened  the  door,  and  I  went  out  from 
my  old  home,  never  to  enter  it  more. 
At  the  foot  of  the  steps  I  turned  and 
looked  back,  hardly  yet  believing  what  I 
had  been  told.  Even  in  the  sting  and 
humiliation  of  that  moment  my  love  was 
stronger  than  the  newer  sensations.  I 
said,  "Good -night,  Maizie.  God  keep 
you,"  and  walked  away. 
83 


THE   STORY   OF 


VIII 

February  27.  I  sat  for  hours  in  my 
room,  that  night,  trying  to  find  some 
solution  of  the  mystery  and  groping  for 
a  future  course  of  action.  I  thought  of 
a  visit  to  my  mother,  on  the  chance  that 
she  would  give  me  the  key  to  the  puzzle, 
but  could  not  bring  myself  to  it.  Reject 
ing  that  idea,  I  decided  to  seek  out  Mr. 
Blodgett,  who,  being  your  friend,  might 
know  the  reason  for  what  you  had  done. 

Finding  on  inquiry,  the  next  morning, 
that  Mr.  Blodgett  was  a  member  of  one 
of  the  chief  banking  firms  of  New  York, 
I  went  to  his  office.  The  ante-room  was 
well  filled  with  people  anxious  to  see  the 
great  banker,  and  the  door-boy  refused  me 
access  to  him  without  giving  my  name 
and  business.  Knowing  that  "Donald 
Maitland"  would  mean  nothing  to  Mr. 
84 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Blodgett,  and  might  even  fail  to  secure 
me  an  audience,  I  wrote  on  a  slip  of 
paper,  "  A  seeker  of  knowledge  from  the 
Altai  Mountains."  Nor  was  I  wrong,  for 
the  boy,  on  his  return,  gave  me  immediate 
entrance,  and  another  moment  brought 
me  face  to  face  with  my  once-disliked 
countryman. 

His  hand  was  extended  to  greet 
me,  but  as  he  looked  at  my  face  his 
arm  dropped  in  surprise.  "  Your  name, 
please  ? "  he  demanded,  with  a  business 
like  clip  to  his  voice,  at  the  same  time 
picking  up  and  glancing  quickly  at  three 
or  four  cards  and  slips  of  paper  that  were 
on  the  corner  of  his  desk. 

"I  am  the  attorney  for  ancient  peo 
ples,"  I  announced,  smiling,  "come  to 
thank  the  New  World  for  its  kindness  to 
a  broken-legged  man." 

Instantly  Mr.  Blodgett  smiled  too,  and 

agarn  extended  his  hand.     "Glad  to  see 

yov  "  he  said.     "  Sit  down."     Then  look- 

i«y    it  me  keenly,  he  added,   "  You  've 

85 


THE   STORY    OF 

done  a  lot  of  bleaching  or  scrubbing  since 
we  met." 

"  In  the  interval  my  face  has  been  hid 
den  from  the  sun-god  of  my  fathers." 

"Ah ! "  Then  his  Americanism  cropped 
out  by  a  question :  "  Are  you  European 
or  Asiatic  ?  —  for  you  are  too  dark  to  be 
the  one,  and  too  white  to  be  the  other." 

"My  parents  were  American,  and  I 
was  born  in  New  York." 

"The  deuce  you  were!  Then  why 
were  you  masquerading  in  Arab  dress 
and  with  a  brown  face  in  Tangier,  and 
why  did  you  say  you  came  from  some 
mountains  in  Asia  ?  " 

"I  was  for  the  time  an  Arab,  and  I 
was  last  from  the  Altai  Mountains,"  I 
explained,  and  smilingly  added,  "Is  my 
explanation  satisfactory  ? " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  spoke  by  the 
book,"  he  replied.  "  Wherever  you  were 
born,  I'm  glad  t&  see —  Hold  on!" 
he  cried,  interrupting  his  own  speech. 
"  Why  did  you  call  yourself  Dr.  Rudolph 
86 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Hartzmann,  of  Leipzig,  if  you  were  an 
American  ? " 

"  I  did  not,"  I  denied,  startled  by  his 
question,  for  my  identity  with  the  pseu 
donym  was  known  only  to  my  professors 
and  publishers. 

"  You  were  n't  living  in  Tangier  under 
the  name  of  Hartzmann  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  No." 

"Then  how  came  it  that  when  my 
servant  was  sent  to  leave  some  fruit  and 
flowers  for  you  and  inquire  your  name, 
he  was  told  that  you  were  Dr.  Rudolph 
Hartzmann,  of  Leipzig  ? " 

"  Are  you  serious  ? "  I  questioned,  as 
much  puzzled  as  he  for  the  moment. 

"  Never  more  so.  I  remember  our  as 
tonishment  to  think  that  any  European 
should  have  so  dark  a  skin  and  live  in 
the  native  quarter." 

"Mr.   Blodgett,"   I  explained,   "I  did 

not  know  till  this  moment   that  a  pen 

name  I  have  used  to  sign  my  writings 

had  been  given  you,  but  it  was  a  joke  of 

87 


THE    STORY    OF 

my  father's  to  register  me  under  it,  and 
my  only  theory  is  that  he  had  given  some 
one  in  the  hotel  that  name,  and,  by  mis 
chance,  your  servant  was  misinformed." 

He  was  too  good  a  business  man  to 
look  as  skeptical  as  he  probably  felt,  and 
merely  asked,  "  What  is  your  real  name, 
then?" 

"Donald  Maitland,  son  of  William 
Maitland." 

His  eyes  gave  a  startled  wink  and 
he  screwed  his  lips  into  position  for  a 
whistle,  but  checking  the  inclination,  he 
merely  turned  his  revolving-chair  so  that 
he  looked  out  of  a  window.  He  sat  thus 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  facing  me,  he 
questioned,  with  a  sudden  curtness  of 
voice  and  manner,  "What  is  your  busi 
ness  with  me  ? " 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling  on 
the  supposition  that  you  are  a  friend  of 
Miss  Walton." 

"  I  am." 

"Miss  Walton  was  once  rny  father's 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

ward,  yet  last  night  she  refused  to  see 
me.  Can  you  tell  me  why  ? " 

"The  reason  is  rather  obvious,"  he 
asserted  crisply. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ? " 

He  looked  at  me  from  under  his  gray 
eyebrows.  "  Is  that  all  you  want  of 
me  ? "  he  demanded. 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  Miss  Walton  refused  to 
see  you  because  she  despises  you." 

I  felt  my  cheeks  burn,  but  I  gripped 
the  arm  of  my  chair  and  waited  till  I 
could  speak  coolly ;  then  I  asked,  "  For 
what  ? " 

"You  are  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
your  father  embezzled  a  part  of  Miss 
Walton's  fortune,  and  that  you  and  he 
have  since  lived  upon  it  ? "  he  exclaimed, 
with  no  veiling  of  his  contempt. 

I  sat  calmly,  for  the  idea  was  too  new, 
and  I  had  too  many  connecting  links  to 
recall,  to  have  the  full  horror  of  the  dis 
grace  come  home  to  me  at  once.  He  did 
89 


THE    STORY    OF 

not  give  me  time  for  thought,  but  inter 
rogated,  "Well?" 

Having  to  speak,  I  asked,  "You  are 
sure  of  what  you  say  ?  " 

"Sure!"  he  ejaculated.  "Why,  it's 
been  known  to  every  one  for  years,  and 
I  was  one  of  the  trustees  appointed  by 
the  court  to  look  out  for  Miss  Walton's 
interest  in  what  property  your  father 
couldn't  take  with  him  !  " 

"  If  you  are  a  trustee  of  Miss  Walton," 
I  said,  growing  cool  in  my  agony  of 
shame,  "can  you  spare  me  five  minutes 
and  answer  some  questions  ?  " 

That  I  did  not  deny  knowledge  of  the 
wrong  seemed  to  raise  me  in  his  opinion, 
for  he  nodded  his  head  and  looked  less 
stern. 

"How  much  did  my  father —  How 
much  did  Miss  Walton  lose  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  One   hundred    and   thirty   thousand 

was  all  the  property  he  could  negotiate, 

and    we   succeeded,   by  bidding    in    his 

house  over  the  mortgage  and  by  taking 

90 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

the  library  at  a  valuation,  in  recovering 
twenty-six  thousand." 

"  Was  that  amount  net  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Then  in  1879  the  amount  due  Miss 
Walton  was  one  hundred  and  four  thou 
sand  dollars  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Blodgett,"  I  added, 
rising.  "  I  am  only  sorry,  after  your 
former  kindness,  to  have  given  you  this 
further  trouble.  I  am  grateful  for  both." 
In  my  shame  I  did  not  dare  to  offer  him 
my  hand,  but  he  held  out  his. 

"  Mr.  Maitland,"  he  rejoined,  "  I  'm  a 
pretty  good  judge  of  men,  and  I  don't 
believe  you  have  done  wrong  knowingly." 

"  I  never  dreamed  it,"  I  almost  sobbed, 
shaking  his  hand. 

"It 's  pretty  rough,"  he  said.  "  I  hope 
you  won't  show  the  white  feather  by  do 
ing  anything  desperate  ? " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  walked  to  the 
door.     As  I  reached  it  a  new  thought 
91 


THE   STORY    OF 

occurred  to  me,  and,  turning,  I  asked, 
"What  has  the  legal  rate  of  interest  been 
since  1879?" 

For  reply  he  touched  an  electric  but 
ton  on  his  desk,  and  I  heard  the  lock 
click  in  the  door  by  which  I  stood.  He 
pulled  a  chair  near  his  own,  and  com 
manded,  "Come  here  and  sit  down,"  in 
such  a  peremptory  tone  that  I  obeyed. 
"Why  did  you  ask  that  question?"  he 
catechised. 

"That  I  may  find  out  how  much  I  owe 
Miss  Walton." 

"What  for?" 

"To  attempt  restitution." 

"  I  hope  you  know  what  you  're  talking 
about?" 

"  I  'm  still  rather  confused,  but  so 
much  I  can  see  clearly  enough." 

"  How  much  property  have  you  ? " 

"  My  father  left  me  something  over 
thirty-one  thousand  dollars." 

"Thirty-one   from   one    hundred   and 
four  leaves  seventy-three." 
92 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  And  interest,"  I  corrected. 

"  I  thought  that  was  what  you  were 
driving  at,"  he  surmised  calmly.  He 
pulled  out  a  volume  from  its  repository 
in  his  desk,  and  turned  backwards  and 
forwards  in  the  book  for  a  few  moments, 
taking  off  figures  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 
"  Eight  years  at  five  per  cent  makes  the 
whole  over  one  hundred  and  fifty-five 
thousand  dollars  less  thirty-one." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Where  can  you  get  the  balance  ? " 

"  I  must  earn  it." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  slightly  quizzi 
cal  expression  and  asked,  "How?" 

"That  I  have  yet  to  think  out." 

"  Any  business  ? " 

"  I  have  the  offer  of  a  professorship  at 
Leipzig,  but  that 's  out  of  the  question 
now." 

"Why?" 

"  It  would  give  me  only  two  thousand 
a  year  at  first,  and  the  interest  on  the 
debt  will  be  over  six  thousand  annually." 
93 


THE   STORY   OF 

"What  do  you  know  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"Most  of  the  languages  and  dialects 
of  Europe  and  Asia,  and  a  good  deal  of 
history  and  ethnology.  I  am  fairly  read 
in  arts,  sciences,  and  religions,  and  I 
know  something  of  writing,"  I  answered, 
smiling  at  the  absurdity  of  mentioning 
such  knowledge  in  the  face  of  such  a 
condition. 

"  Humph  !  And  you  'd  have  sold  all 
that  for  two  thousand  a  year  ? " 

"  I  think  so." 

"Well,  that  only  proves  that  a  man 
had  better  cultivate  his  gumption,  and 
not  his  brains  !  " 

"  If  he  wishes  to  make  money,"  I  could 
not  help  retorting  gently. 

"  You  're  just  like  Maizie  !  "  he  sniffed, 
and  his  going  back  to  your  familiar  name 
in  my  presence  was  the  best  compliment 
he  could  have  paid  me.  "  You  two  ought 
to  have  died  young  and  gone  to  heaven, 
where  there 's  nothing  to  do  but  cultivate 
the  soul." 

94 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

« I  wish  we  had !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  your  mother  ?  " 

"  For  what  ? " 

"For  the  money." 

"  Has  she  money  ? " 

"  Yes.  She  had  a  little  money  when 
she  married  your  father,  which  she  kept 
tight  hold  of ;  her  mother's  death,  two 
years  ago,  gave  her  more,  and  she  has  just 
married  a  rich  man." 

"  I  don't  know  yet  what  I  shall  do,"  I 
replied,  rising. 

"  Well,"  he  advised  kindly,  "  before  you 
blow  your  brains  out  or  do  anything  else 
that 's  a  waste  of  good  material,  come  and 
see  me  again." 

"Thank  you,"  I  responded.  "And, 
Mr.  Blodgett,  as  a  favor,  I  ask  that  all  I 
have  told  you,  and  even  my  presence  in 
New  York,  shall  be  confidential  between 
us." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  he  growled.  "  I  shall 
tell  Maizie  all  about  it." 

"  Miss  Walton  least  of  any,"  I  begged- 

95 


THE  STORY   OF 
t 

"  Why  don't  you  insist,  too,  that  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  who  intends  that  I  shall  inform 
her  nightly  of  everything  I  know,  sha'n't 
be  told  ? "  he  queried. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  be  a  marplot  of 
connubial  confidences,"  I  rejoined,  re 
sponding  to  his  smile,  "  but  this  must  be 
between  us." 

"  Have  your  own  way,"  he  acceded,  and 
then  laughed.  "  I  '11  have  a  good  time 
over  it,  for  I  '11  let  Mrs.  Blodgett  see 
there  is  a  secret,  and  she  '11  go  crazy  try 
ing  to  worm  it  out  of  me." 

He  shook  my  hand  again,  and  I  felt 
ashamed  to  think  that  his  voice  and  man 
ner  had  once  made  me  hold  him  in  con 
tempt. 

I  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and  thought 
over  the  past,  seeing  how  blind  I  had 
been.  Now  for  the  first  time  everything 
became  clear.  I  understood  the  trip  to 
Europe  and  our  remaining  there,  why 
my  mother  had  left  us,  why  Mr.  Walton 
had  been  permitted  to  take  you  from  us 
96 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

without  protest,  why  we  had  not  mingled 
with  Americans,  and  my  father's  motives 
in  making  me  write  under  a  pen  name, 
in  registering  me  at  hotels  by  it,  and  in 
giving  that  name  to  your  servant.  Now 
it  was  obvious  why  he  never  signed  his 
articles,  and  why  he  appealed  to  me  to 
let  him  aid  me  to  make  a  reputation :  it 
was  his  endeavor  to  atone  to  me  for  the 
wrong  he  had  done. 
Good-night,  my  love. 
97 


THE  STORY   OF 


IX 

February  28.  Many  times  in  the  last 
three  years  I  have  begun  a  letter  to  you, 
for  the  thought  that  you,  like  the  rest 
of  the  world,  may  rank  my  father  with 
other  embezzlers  stings  me  almost  to 
desperation.  Each  time  it  has  been  to 
tear  the  attempted  justification  —  or  I 
should  say,  extenuation  —  into  fragments, 
long  before  it  was  completed.  In  all 
my  trials  I  have  come  to  realize  that 
nothing  I  can  say  can  stand  him  in  stead ; 
for  whatever  I  urge  is  open  to  suspicion, 
not  merely  because  it  is  my  interest  to 
condone  his  act,  but  still  more  because  it 
inevitably  becomes  an  indirect  justifica 
tion  of  myself,  and  therefore,  in  a  sense, 
a  plea  for  pardon. 

At  moments,  too,  when  with  you,  I 
have  had  to  exercise  the  greatest  self- 
98 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

control  not  to  tell  you  what  I  feel.  If 
I  were  only  some  one  else  than  Don 
ald  Maitland,  so  that  I  might  say  to 
you:  — 

"  You  should  know  that  your  guardian 
was  incapable  of  the  lowness  the  world 
imputes  to  him !  I  am  not  trying  to 
belittle  the  sin,  but  to  distinguish  the 
motive.  His  wrong  was  no  mean  at 
tempt  to  enrich  himself  at  the  expense  of 
one  he  loved,  for  his  nature  was  wholly 
unmercenary,  and  his  trangression  origi. 
nated,  not  through  greed,  but  through 
lack  of  it.  Like  all  men  of  true  intel 
lect,  he  was  heedless  in  money  matters, 
and  I  am  conscious  that  there  was  in 
him,  as  there  is  in  me,  the  certain  weak 
ness  which  is  almost  inevitable  with  mind 
cultivation,  —  an  engulfing,  as  it  were,  of 
the  big  principles  of  right  and  wrong  in 
the  complexities  and  the  refinements  of 
cultivated  thought.  His  birthright  was 
scholarship,  but  in  place  of  the  life  he 
was  fitted  for  he  was  forced  into  Wall 
99 


THE   STORY   OF 

Street,  and  toiled  there  without  sympa 
thy  or  aptitude  for  his  work.  Do  you 
not  remember  how,  aside  from  our  com 
panionship,  his  books  were  his  one  great 
pleasure  ?  The  wealth  of  mind  he  gave 
to  us  tells  the  story  of  how  he  must  have 
neglected  his  office  in  favor  of  his  library. 
Yet  though  this  preference  might  have 
made  him  a  poor  man,  I  cannot  think  his 
studies  would  ever  have  led  him  into  dis 
honesty.  I  have  never  had  the  heart  to 
trace  the  history  of  his  act,  but  Mr. 
Blodgett  tells  me  that  shortly  after  his 
marriage  he  first  began  to  speculate,  and 
knowing  as  I  do  my  mother's  extrava 
gance  and  my  father's  love  for  her,  I  can 
understand  the  motive.  The  inevitable 
result  came  presently,  and,  as  a  tempo 
rary  expedient,  a  small  part  of  your  prop 
erty  was  used.  Then  a  desperate  attempt 
was  made  to  recover  this  by  the  risking 
of  a  larger  portion,  and  after  that  there 
was  nothing  left  but  confession  or  flight. 
I  wish  he  had  spoken,  but  the  weakness 

100 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

that  produced  the  first  wrong  accounts 
for  the  second,  and  I  believe  his  chief 
thought  was  of  me,  and  how  I  might  be 
saved  from  the  consequences  of  his  guilt. 
Unless  you  have  put  him  wholly  out  of 
your  heart,  you  must  appreciate  that  it 
was  no  sordid  scheme  to  cheat  you,  but  a 
surrender  to  the  love  strong  enough  to 
overcome  his  honesty.  You  must  know 
that  he  loved  you  too  well  to  wrong  you 
willingly,  and  I  think  with  pain  of  what 
I  am  sure  he  must  have  suffered  in  his 
shame  at  having  robbed  you.  Do  you 
not  remember  the  sadness  in  his  face  in 
those  later  years,  and  his  tenderness  to 
both  of  us  ?  Can  you  not  see  that  his 
kindness,  his  patience,  and  his  care  of  us 
were  his  endeavored  atonement  ?  " 

Oh,  Maizie,  I  ask  nothing  for  myself, 
but  if  you  could  be  brought  to  think  of 
him,  to  love  him,  as  you  once  did,  my 
greatest  grief  would  be  ended. 

Bitter  as  my  misery  was  after  Mr. 
Blodgett's  revelation,  there  was  still 


THE    STORY    OF 

some  sweetness  to  make  it  bearable. 
For  years  I  had  thought  of  you  as  heart 
less  and  forgetful,  and  even  in  my  love 
had  hated  and  despised  you  at  moments, 
as  only  love  can  hate  and  despise.  The 
world  thinks  that  animosity  is  always 
strongest  against  enemies,  though  daily 
it  sees  the  intensest  feuds  between  those 
nations  and  individuals  who  are  most 
closely  related,  and  never  learns  that  the 
deepest  hatred  comes  from  love.  Now 
I  knew  that  you  had  cause  for  slighting 
my  letters  and  gift,  and  the  knowledge 
of  my  injustice  and  the  thought  that 
you  were  more  lovable  than  ever  were 
the  silver  lining  to  my  cloud  of  shame. 

My  first  meeting  with  you  was  a  pure 
chance,  yet  it  shaped  my  life.  For  three 
weeks  after  my  call  on  Mr.  Blodgett  I 
pondered  and  vacillated  over  what  I 
should  do,  without  reaching  any  decision. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  I  went  to  his 
office  again. 

"  Mr.  Blodgett  has  asked  two  or  three 

102 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

times  if  you  had  n't  called,"  the  boy  in« 
formed  me ;  adding,  as  he  opened  the 
door  to  the  private  office,  "  He  told  me, 
if  you  ever  came  again,  sir,  to  show  you 
right  in." 

I  passed  through  the  doorway,  and 
then  faltered,  for  you  were  sitting  beside 
the  banker,  overlooking  a  paper  that  he 
was  commenting  upon.  Could  I  have 
escaped  unnoticed,  I  should  have  done 
so;  but  you  both  glanced  up  as  I  en 
tered. 

The  moment  you  saw  me  you  rose, 
with  an  exclamation  of  recognition  and 
surprise,  which  meant  to  me  that  you 
knew  your  old  friend  in  spite  of  the 
changes.  Do  you  wonder  that,  not  fore 
seeing  what  was  to  come,  I  stood  there 
as  if  turned  to  stone  ?  My  manner  evi 
dently  made  you  question  your  own  eyes, 
for  you  asked,  "  Is  not  this  Dr.  Hartz- 
mann  ? " 

"  Of  course  it  is !  "  cried  Mr.  Blodgett, 

with  a  quickness  and  heartiness  which 
103 


THE    STORY   OF 

proved  that  your  question  was  almost  as 
great  a  relief  to  him  as  it  was  to  me. 

"  I  did  not  think,  Miss  Walton,"  I  re- 
plied,  steadying  my  voice  as  best  I  could, 
"that  you  saw  my  face  clearly  enough 
that  evening,  to  recollect  it  ? " 

"  The  moonlight  was  so  strong,"  you 
explained,  "  that  I  should  have  known 
you  anywhere." 

"Then  your  eyes  are  better  than 
mine,"  asserted  Mr.  Blodgett.  "I  ac 
cused  the  doctor  of  using  blondine,  to 
atone  for  my  not  recognizing  him,  though 
I  must  confess  he  will  have  to  use  a  good 
deal  more  if  he  wants  to  be  thought  any 
thing  but  Italian." 

"  Then  you  have  met  before  ? "  you 
questioned. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Blodgett.  "I  was 
going  to  tell  you  when  we  got  through 
with  that  mortgage.  I  knew  you  would 
be  interested  to  hear  that  the  doctor  was 
in  New  York.  Seems  like  Tangier,  does 
n't  it?" 

104 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  In  reminiscence,"  I  assented,  merely 
to  gain  time. 

"  None  of  your  rickety  ruins,"  chuckled 
Mr.  Blodgett. 

"But  more  ruin,"  you  said. 

"And  more  danger,"  I  added,  pointing 
jut  of  the  window  at  the  passers-by  in 
Wall  Street.  "  Nowhere  in  my  travels, 
even  among  races  that  have  to  go  armed, 
have  I  ever  seen  so  many  anxious  and 
careworn  faces." 

"  Most  of  them  look  worried,"  sug 
gested  Mr.  Blodgett,  "  only  because  they 
are  afraid  they  '11  take  more  than  three 
minutes  to  eat  their  lunch." 

For  a  moment  you  spoke  with  Mr. 
Blodgett  on  business,  and  then  offered 
me  your  hand  in  farewell,  saying,  "  I  am 
very  glad,  Dr.  Hartzmann,  for  this  chance 
reunion.  Mr.  Blodgett  and  I  have  often 
spoken  of  the  mysterious  Oriental  who 
fell  in  —  and  out  —  of  our  knowledge  so 
strangely." 

**I  have  wished  to   meet   you,  Miss 


THE    STORY   OF 

Walton,"  I  responded  warmly,  "  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  and  help  to  me 
when " — 

"  That  was  nothing,  Dr.  Hartzmann," 
you  interrupted,  in  evident  deprecation 
of  my  thanks.  "  Indeed,  I  have  always 
felt  that  we  were  in  a  measure  responsi 
ble  for  your  accident,  and  that  we  made 
but  a  poor  return  by  the  little  we  did. 
Good-morning." 

Mr.  Blodgett  took  you  to  your  car 
riage,  and  when  he  returned  he  gave  a 
whistle.  "  Well !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
have  n't  gone  through  such  a  ten-second 
scare  since  I  proposed  to  my  superior 
moiety." 

"  I  ought  "  —  I  began. 

But  he  went  on :  "  There  's  nothing 
frightens  me  so  much  as  a  wrought-up 
woman.  Dynamite  or  volcanoes  are  n't 
a  circumstance  to  her,  because  they  have 
limits ;  but  woman  ! " 

I  laughed  and  said,  "The  Hindoos 
have  a  paradox  to  the  effect  that  women 

106 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

fear  mice,  mice  fear  men,  and  men  fear 
women." 

"She  got  so  much  better  and  longer 
look  at  you  in  Tangier  than  I  did  that  I 
don't  wonder  she  recognized  Dr  Hartz- 
mann  when  I  did  n't.  But  why  did  she 
stop  there  in  her  recollections  ?  " 

"  It  appeared  incomprehensible  to  me 
for  a  moment,  yet,  as  a  fact,  her  know 
ing  me  as  Donald  Maitland  would  have 
been  the  greater  marvel  of  the  two. 
When  she  knew  me,  I  was  an  under 
sized,  pallid,  stooping  lad  of  seventeen. 
In  the  ten  years  since,  my  hair  and  skin 
have  both  darkened  greatly,  I  have  grown 
a  mustache,  and  my  voice  has  undergone 
the  change  that  comes  with  manhood,  as 
well  as  that  which  comes  by  speaking 
foreign  tongues.  Your  very  question  as 
to  whether  I  was  of  Eastern  birth  tells 
the  whole  story,  for  such  a  doubt  would 
seem  absurd  to  one  who  remembered  the 
boy  of  ten  years  ago.  Then,  too,  Miss 
Walton,  having  recognized  me  as  Dr. 

107 


THE   STORY   OF 

Hartzmann,  was,  as  it  were,  disarmed  of 
all  suspicion  by  having  no  question-mark 
in  her  mind  as  to  my  exact  identity." 

Mr.  Blodgett  nodded  his  head  in  as 
sent.  "And  you  don't  know  it  all,"  he 
informed  me.  "  I  'm  going  to  be  frank, 
doctor,  and  acknowledge  that  I  've  ex 
pressed  a  pretty  low  opinion  of  you  to 
her  more  than  once.  If  Maizie  were 
asked  what  man  in  this  world  she  'd  be 
least  likely  to  meet  in  my  office  on  a 
friendly  footing,  she  would  probably 
think  of  you.  Your  presence  here  was 
equivalent  to  saying  that  you  were  n't 
Donald  Maitland,  let  alone  the  fact  that 
I  greeted  you  as  Dr.  Hartzmann,  and 
that  she  could  never  dream  of  my  having 
a  reason  to  deceive  her  in  your  identity." 

"  Such  a  chain  of  circumstances  almost 
makes  one  believe  in  kismet,"  I  sighed. 
Then  I  laughed,  and  added,  "  How  easy 
it  is  to  show  that  one  need  not  be  scared 
—  after  the  danger  is  all  over  !  " 

"  That  is  n't  the  only  scare  I  owe  to 

108 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

you,"  muttered  Mr.  Blodgett.  "  I  did  n't 
take  your  address  because  I  told  you  to 
come  again.  Why  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  here." 

"  Yes.  But  for  three  weeks  I  Ve  been 
worrying  over  what  you  were  doing  with 
yourself,  and  not  knowing  that  you  had 
n't  cut  your  throat." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you.  I 
stayed  away  to  save  troubling  you." 

"  You  're  as  considerate  as  the  Fiji 
islander  was  of  the  missionary,  when  he 
asked  him  if  he  had  rather  be  cooked 
d  la  maitre  d1  hotel  or  en  papillate.  What 
have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"Very  little  to  any  purpose.  I  have 
written  to  my  publisher,  offering  to  sell 
my  rights  in  my  text-books  ;  to  a  friend, 
asking  him  to  learn  for  what  price  he 
can  sell  my  library  ;  and  to  my  bankers, 
directing  them  to  send  me  the  bonds 
and  a  draft  for  my  balance.  I  received 
the  securities  and  a  bill  of  exchange  yes 
terday,  and  am  so  ignorant  of  business 
109 


THE   STORY   OP 

methods  that  I  came  to  you  this  morning 
to  learn  how  to  turn  them  into  cash." 

"  I  '11  do  better  than  that,"  volunteered 
Mr.  Blodgett,  touching  a  button.     "  Give 
them   to   me,   and    1 11    have   it   done." 
Then,  after   he   had   turned  the  matter 
over  to  a  clerk,  he  asked,  "What  does 
your  publisher  offer  ?  " 
"  Thirty-five  hundred." 
"  And  what  are  your  royalties  ?  " 
"Last   year  they  were  over  six  hun 
dred  dollars." 

"  Humph !  That 's  equivalent  to  in 
vesting  money  at  eighteen  per  cent. 
You  ought  to  get  more  than  that." 

"  A  little  more  or  less  is  nothing  com 
pared  with  paying  so  much  on  my  debt." 
"  What  will  your  library  bring  ?  " 
"  Perhaps  four  thousand,  if  I  can  find 
some  one  who  wants  so  technical  a  col 
lection." 

"  And  you  can  get  along  without  it  ? " 
"  I  must,"  I  declared,  though  wincing 
a  little. 

no 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  Rather  goes  against  the  grain,  eh  ? " 
he  rejoined  kindly. 

I  tried  to  laugh,  and  said,  "  My  books 
have  been  such  good  comrades  that  I 
have  n't  quite  accustomed  myself  yet  to 
thinking  of  them  as  merchandise.  I  feel 
a  little  as  the  bankrupt  planter  must 
have  felt  when  he  saw  his  slave  children 
offered  for  sale." 

"And  what  do  you  plan  to  do  with 
yourself  ? " 

"  I  have  n't  been  able  to  make  up  my 
mind." 

We  were  interrupted  at  this  point  by 
some  business  matter,  and  I  took  my 
leave.  The  next  morning  Mr.  Blodgett 
called  at  my  boarding-place  on  his  way 
down  town. 

"I  haven't  come  to  talk  business,"  he 
announced.  "  I  told  my  wife  and  daugh 
ter,  last  night,  about  the  fellow  from  the 
backwoods  of  Asia,  and  made  them  so 
curious  that  Mrs.  Blodgett  has  given  me 
permission  to  furnish  him  board  and 


THE   STORY   OF 

lodgings  for  a  week.  I  '11  promise  you  a 
better  room  than  this,"  he  added,  glan 
cing  at  the  box  I  had  moved  into  as  soon 
as  I  realized  how  much  worse  than  a 
pauper  I  was. 

I  could  hardly  express  my  gratitude  as 
I  tried  to  thank  him,  but  he  pretended 
not  to  perceive  my  emotion,  and  said 
briskly  :  "  That 's  settled,  then.  Send 
your  stuff  round  any  time  to-day,  and  be 
on  deck  for  a  seven-o'clock  dinner." 

You,  who  know  Mrs.  Blodgett  so 
much  better  than  I,  can  understand  my 
bewilderment  during  the  first  day  or  two 
of  my  visit.  Her  husband  had  jokingly 
pictured  me  as  of  an  Eastern  race,  which 
made  the  meeting  rather  embarrassing ; 
but  the  moment  she  comprehended  that 
I  did  not  habitually  sit  on  the  floor,  did 
not  carry  a  scimiter  or  kris,  and  was  not 
unwashed  and  ferine,  but  only  a  dark 
skinned,  dark  haired,  and  very  silent  Ger 
man  scholar,  she  took  possession  of  me 
as  I  have  seen  her  do  of  others.  She 


AN  UNTOLD   LOVE 

preceded  me  to  my  room,  ringing  for  a 
servant  on  the  way,  made  me  open  my 
trunk,  and  directed  the  maid  where  to 
put  each  article  it  contained.  She  told 
me  what  time  to  be  ready  for  dinner, 
what  to  wear  for  it,  and  at  that  meal  she 
had  me  helped  twice  to  such  dishes  as 
she  chose,  while  refusing  to  let  me  have 
more  than  one  cup  of  coffee.  To  a  man 
who  had  never  had  any  one  to  look  after 
him  in  small  things  it  was  a  novel  and 
rather  pleasant  if  surprising  experience, 
and  when  I  grew  accustomed  to  it  I 
easily  understood  Mr.  Blodgett's  chuckles 
of  enjoyment  when  she  told  him  he 
should  n't  have  a  third  cigar,  when  she 
decided  how  close  he  was  to  sit  to  the 
fire,  and  finally  when  she  made  all  of  us 
. —  Agnes,  Mr.  Blodgett,  and  myself  — 
go  to  bed  at  her  own  hour  for  retiring. 
Best  of  all  I  understood  Mr.  Blodgett's 
familiar  name  for  her,  "the  boss."  That 
visit  was  a  perfect  revelation  to  me  of 
affectionate,  thoughtful,  and  persistently 
"3 


THE   STORY    OF 

minute  domineering.  I  do  not  believe 
that  the  man  lives,  though  he  be  the 
veriest  woman-hater,  who  could  help  lov 
ing  her  after  a  fortnight  of  her  tyranny. 
Certainly  I  could  not. 

By  Mr.  Blodgett's  aid  I  secured  a 
"  paper "  cable  transfer  of  the  money 
realized  from  the  bonds  and  draft,  in 
order  that  it  might  seem  to  come  from 
Europe,  and  sent  it  to  you,  writing  at  his 
suggestion,  "  The  inclosed  draft  on  Fos 
ter  G.  Blodgett  &  Co.  for  the  sum  of 
thirty-three  thousand  dollars  is  part  pay 
ment  of  principal  and  interest  due  you 
from  estate  of  William  G.  Maitland."  I 
wonder  what  your  thoughts  were  as  you 
read  the  unsigned  and  typewritten  note  ? 

It  was  your  greeting  of  me  by  my 
alias  that  led  me  to  accept  the  incognito. 
Perhaps  it  was  cowardly  to  shirk  my 
shame  by  such  a  means,  but  it  was  not 
done  from  cowardice  ;  the  thought  did 
not  even  occur  to  me  until  it  opened  a 
way  to  knowing  you.  And  in  that  hope 
114 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

my  very  misery  became  almost  happiness, 
for  its  possibilities  seemed  those  of  the 
Oriental  poet  who  wrote  :  — 

"  My  love  once  offered  me  a  bitter  draught 
From  which  in  cowardice  I  flinched. 
But  still  she  tendered  it  to  me ; 
And  bowing  to  her  wish,  I  then  no  longer  shrank, 
But  took  the  cup  and  put  it  to  my  lips. 
Oh,  marvel  I  gazing  still  at  her, 
The  potion  turned  to  sweetness  as  I  drank." 

If  your  old  friend,  Donald  Maitland, 
were  dead  to  you,  your  new  lover,  Ru 
dolph  Hartzmann,  might  fill  his  place. 
I  never  stopped  to  think  if  such  trick 
ery  were  right,  or  rather  my  love  was 
stronger  than  my  conscience. 

Good-night,  my  dearest. 
"5 


THE   STORY   OF 


March  I.  During  my  visit  I  heard 
much  about  you  from  Mrs.  Blodgett  and 
Agnes,  for  your  name  was  constantly  on 
their  lips.  From  them  I  learned  that 
your  birth,  wealth,  and  the  influence  of 
your  uncle  had  involved  you  in  a  fashion 
able  society  for  which  you  cared  nothing, 
and  that,  aside  from  the  gayety  which 
that  circle  forced  upon  you,  your  time 
was  spent  in  travel,  and  in  reading, 
music,  and  charitable  work.  Except  for 
themselves,  they  averred,  you  had  no 
intimate  friends,  and  their  explanation 
of  this  fact  proved  to  me  that  you  had 
taken  our  separation  as  seriously  as  had  I. 

"After  Mr.   Walton    brought   her  to 

America  she  spent  the  first  few  months 

with  us,"   Mrs.  Blodgett  told  me,   "and 

was  the  loneliest  child  I  ever  saw.     Her 

116 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

big  eyes  used  to  look  so  wistfully  at  times 
that  I  could  hardly  bear  it,  yet  not  a 
word  did  she  ever  speak  of  her  sorrow. 
And  all  on  account  of  that  wretch  and 
his  son  !  I  think  the  worse  men  are,  the 
more  a  good  woman  loves  them  !  When 
Maizie  was  old  enough  to  understand, 
and  Mr.  Walton  told  her  how  she  had 
been  robbed,  she  would  n't  believe  him 
till  Mr.  Blodgett  confirmed  the  story. 
She  used  to  be  always  talking  of  the 
two,  but  she  has  never  spoken  of  them 
since  that  night." 

Even  more  cruel  to  me  was  something 
Agnes  related.  She  worshiped  you  with 
the  love  and  admiration  a  girl  of  eighteen 
sometimes  feels  for  a  girl  of  twenty-three, 
and  in  singing  your  praises,  —  to  a  most 
willing  listener, — one  day,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a  man,  so  that  I  could 
be  her  lover !  I  'd  make  her  believe  in 
love."  Then  seeing  my  questioning  look, 
Agnes  continued  :  "  What  with  her  self 
ish  old  uncle,  and  the  men  who  want  to 
117 


THE    STORY    OF 

marry  her  for  her  money,  and  those  hate 
ful  Maitlands,  she  has  been  made  to 
distrust  all  love  and  friendship.  She  has 
the  idea  that  she  is  n't  lovable,  —  that 
people  don't  like  her  for  herself;  and  I 
really  think  she  will  never  marry,  just 
because  of  it." 

Better  far  than  this  knowledge  of  you 
at  second-hand  was  Mr.  Blodgett's  telling 
me  that  you  were  to  dine  with  them  dur 
ing  my  visit.  It  may  seem  absurd,  but 
not  the  least  part  of  my  eagerness  that 
night  was  to  see  you  in  evening  dress. 
If  I  had  not  loved  you  already,  I  should 
have  done  so  from  that  meeting;  and 
although  you  are  dear  to  me  for  many 
things  besides  your  beauty,  I  understand 
why  men  love  you  so  deeply  who  know 
nothing  of  your  nature.  That  all  men 
should  not  love  you  is  my  only  marvel 
whenever  I  recall  that  first  glimpse  of 
you  as  you  entered  the  Blodgetts'  draw 
ing-room. 

Before  we  had  finished  our  greetings 
uS 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Mr.  Whitely  entered,  and  though  I  little 
realized  how  vital  a  part  he  was  to  be  of 
my  life,  I  yet  regarded  him  with  instant 
interest,  for  something  in  his  manner 
towards  you  suggested  to  me  that  he 
coveted  the  hand  you  offered  him. 

A  lover  does  not  view  a  rival  kindly, 
but  I  am  compelled  to  own  that  he  is 
handsome.  If  I  had  the  right  to  cavil,  I 
could  criticise  only  his  mouth,  which  it 
seems  to  me  has  slyness  with  a  certain 
cruel  firmness  ;  but  I  did  not  notice  this 
until  I  knew  him  better,  and  perhaps  it 
is  only  my  imagination,  born  of  later 
knowledge.  I  am  not  so  blinded  by  my 
jealousy  as  to  deny  his  perfect  manner, 
for  one  feels  the  polished  surface,  touch 
the  outside  where  one  will. 

Your  demeanor  towards  him  was 
friendly,  yet  with  all  its  graciousness  it 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  quality  not  so 
much  of  aloofness  as  of  limit ;  conveying 
in  an  indefinable  way  the  fact  that  such 
relations  as  then  existed  between  you 

"9 


THE   STORY   OF 

were  the  only  possible  ones.  It  was  a 
shading  so  imperceptible  that  I  do  not 
think  the  Blodgetts  realized  it,  and  I 
should  have  questioned  if  Mr.  Whitely 
himself  were  conscious  of  it,  but  for  one 
or  two  things  he  said  in  the  course  of 
the  evening,  which  had  to  me,  under  the 
veil  of  a  general  topic,  individual  sug 
gestion. 

We  were  discussing  that  well-worn 
question  of  woman's  education,  Mrs. 
Blodgett  having  introduced  the  apple  of 
discord  by  a  sweeping  disapproval  of  col 
lege  education  for  women,  on  the  ground 
that  it  prevented  their  marrying. 

"  They  get  to  know  too  much,  eh  ?  " 
laughed  Mr.  Blodgett. 

"No,"  cried  Mrs.  Blodgett,  "they  get 
to  know  too  little  !  While  they  ought 
to  be  out  in  the  world  studying  life  and 
men,  so  as  to  choose  wisely,  they  're  shut 
up  in  dormitories  filling  their  brains  with 
Greek  and  mathematics." 

"  You  would  limit  a  woman's  arithme- 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

tic  to  the  solution  of  how  to  make  one 
and  one,  one  ?  "  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  Surely,  Mrs.  Blodgett,  you  do  not 
mean  that  an  uncultivated  woman  makes 
the  best  wife  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Whitely. 

"I  mean,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Blodgett, 
"that  women  who  know  much  of  books 
know  little  of  men.  That 's  why  over- 
intellectual  women  always  marry  fools." 

"How  many  intellectual  wives  there 
must  be !  "  you  said. 

"  I  should  n't  mind  if  they  only  married 
fools,"  continued  Mrs.  Blodgett,  "but 
half  the  time  they  don't  marry  at  all." 

"  Does  that  prove  or  disprove  their  in 
tellect  ? "  you  asked. 

"  It  means,"  replied  Mrs.  Blodgett, 
"that  they  are  so  puffed  up  with  their 
imaginary  knowledge  that  they  think  no 
man  good  enough  for  them." 

"  I  've  known  one  or  two  college  boys 
graduate  with  the  same  large  ideas,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Blodgett. 

"  But  a  man  gets  over  it  after  a  few 

121 


THE   STORY   OF 

years,"  urged  Mrs.  Blodgett,  "and is  none 
the  worse  off;  but  by  the  time  a  girl 
overcomes  the  idea,  she  's  so  old  that  no 
man  worth  having  will  look  at  her." 

"  I  rather  think,  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  said 
Mr.  Whitely,  in  that  charmingly  deferen 
tial  manner  he  has  with  women,  "that 
some  men  do  not  try  to  win  highly  edu 
cated  women  because  they  are  abashed 
by  a  sense  of  their  own  inferiority." 

"  Where  do  those  men  hide  themselves, 
Whitely  ?  "  interrogated  Mr.  Blodgett. 

"  I  '11  not  question  the  reason,"  re 
torted  Mrs.  Blodgett.  "The  fact  that 
over  -  educated  girls  think  themselves 
above  men  is  all  I  claim." 

"I  don't  think,  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  you 
corrected,  "it  is  so  much  a  feeling  of 
superiority  as  it  is  a  change  in  the  aims 
of  marriage.  Formerly,  woman  married 
to  gain  a  protector,  and  man  to  gain  a 
housewife.  Now,  matrimony  is  sought 
far  less  for  service,  and  far  more  for 
companionship." 

122 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"But,  Miss  Walton,"  questioned  Mr. 
Whitely,  "  does  not  the  woman  ask  too 
much  nowadays  ?  She  has  the  leisure  to 
read  and  study,  but  a  business  man  can 
not  spare  the  time.  Is  it  fair,  then,  to 
expect  that  he  shall  be  as  cultivated  as 
she  can  make  herself  ? " 

"  That  is,  I  think,  the  real  cause  for 
complaint,"  you  answered.  "  The  busi 
ness  man  is  so  absorbed  in  money-mak 
ing  that  he  sacrifices  his  whole  time  to 
it.  I  can  understand  a  woman  falling  in 
love  with  a  lance  or  a  sword,  dull  com 
panions  though  they  must  have  been, 
but  it  seems  to  me  impossible  for  any 
woman  to  love  a  minting-machine,  even 
though  she  might  be  driven  to  marry  it 
for  its  product." 

"That's  rough  on  us,  Whitely," 
laughed  Mr.  Blodgett  good  -  naturedly  ; 
but  Mr.  Whitely  reddened,  and  you,  as 
if  to  divert  the  subject  from  this  per 
sonal  tendency,  turned  and  surmised  to 

me:  — 

123 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  I  suppose  that  as  a  German,  Dr. 
Hartzmann,  you  think  a  woman  should 
be  nothing  more  than  a  housekeeper  ? " 

"Why  not  suggest,  Miss  Walton,"  I 
replied,  smiling,  "  that  as  an  Orientalist  I 
must  think  the  seraglio  woman's  proper 
sphere  ? " 

"But,  Miss  Walton,"  persisted  Mr. 
Whitely,  not  accepting  your  diversion, 
"a  man,  to  be  successful  nowadays, 
must  give  all  his  attention  to  his  busi 
ness." 

"  I  presume  that  is  so,"  you  acceded ; 
"  but  could  he  not  be  content  with  a  lit 
tle  less  success  in  money-making,  and 
strive  to  acquire  a  few  more  amenities  ?  " 

"Maizie  wants  us  all  to  be  painters 
and  poets  and  musicians,"  asserted  Mr. 
Blodgett. 

"  Not  at  all,"  you  denied. 

"  Oh,  Maizie  !  "  cried  Agnes.  "  You 
know  you  said  the  other  day  that  you 
hoped  I  would  n't  marry  a  business  man." 

*'  I  said  'only  a  business  man,'  Agnes," 
124 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

you  replied,  without  a  trace  of  the  em- 
barrassment  so  many  women  would  have 
shown.  "  Because  men  cannot  all  be 
clergymen  is  no  reason  for  their  know 
ing  nothing  of  religion.  There  would  be 
no  painters,  poets,  or  musicians  if  there 
were  no  dilettanti." 

"Yet  I  think,"  argued  Mr.  Whitely, 
still  as  if  he  were  trying  to  convince  you 
of  something,  "that  the  successful  busi 
ness  man  has  as  much  brain  as  most 
writers  or  artists." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  is  true,"  you 
assented.  "  So,  too,  a  day  laborer  may 
have  a  good  mind.  But  of  what  avail 
is  a  brain  if  it  has  never  been  trained, 
or  has  been  trained  to  know  only  one 
thing?" 

"  But  authors  and  painters  are  only 
specialists,"  urged  Mr.  Whitely. 

"They  are  specialists  of  a  very  dif 
ferent  type,"  you  responded,  "  from  the 
man  whose  daily  thoughts  are  engrossed 
with  the  prices  of  pig-iron  or  cotton 
125 


THE   STORY   OF 

sheetings.  I  think  one  reason  why 
American  girls  frequently  marry  Euro 
peans  is  that  the  foreign  man  is  so  apt 
to  be  more  broadly  cultivated." 

"  That 's  what  I  mean  by  saying  that 
books  unfit  women  to  marry  wisely,"  in 
terjected  Mrs.  Blodgett.  "They  marry 
foreigners  because  they  are  more  culti 
vated,  without  a  thought  of  character." 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  you  observed, 
"has  not  the  day  gone  by  for  thinking 
dullness  a  sign  of  honesty?  And  cer 
tainly  a  business  career  is  far  more  likely 
to  corrupt  and  harden  men's  natures  than 
the  higher  professions,  for  its  tempta 
tions  and  strifes  are  so  much  greater." 

Your  opinion  was  so  in  accord  with 
what  my  father  had  often  preached  that 
I  could  not  but  wonder  if  his  teachings 
still  colored  your  thoughts.  To  test  this 
idea  as  well  as  to  learn  your  present  view, 
I  recurred  to  another  theory  of  his  by 
saying,  "  Does  not  the  broader  and  more 
sensitive  nature  of  the  scholar  or  artist 
126 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

involve  defects  fully  as  serious  as  the 
hardness  and  narrowness  of  the  business 
man  ?  Some  one  has  said  that  '  to  marry 
a  literary  man  is  to  domesticate  a  bundle 
of  nerves.' " 

"A  nervous  irritability,"  you  replied, 
"which  came  from  fine  mental  exertion, 
would  be  as  nothing  compared  to  my 
own  fretting  over  enforced  companion 
ship  with  an  unsympathetic  or  sordid  na 
ture."  Then  you  laughed,  and  added, 
"  I  must  have  a  very  bad  temper,  for  it 
is  the  only  one  which  ever  really  annoys 
me." 

That  last  speech  told  me  how  thor 
oughly  the  woman  of  twenty-three  was  a 
development  of  the  child  of  fourteen,  for 
I  remembered  how  little  my  mother's  an 
ger  used  to  disturb  you,  but  how  deeply 
and  strongly  your  emotions  affected  you. 
I  suppose  it  was  absurd,  but  I  felt  happy 
to  think  that  you  had  changed  so  little  in 
character  from  the  time  when  I  knew 
you  so  well.  And  from  that  evening  I 
127 


THE    STORY    OF 

never  for  an   instant  believed  that  you 
would  marry  Mr.  Whitely,  for  I  was  sure 
that   you  could   never   love  him.     How 
could   I   dream   that   you,  with   beauty, 
social  position,  and  wealth,  would  make  a 
loveless  marriage  ? 
Good-night,  my  love. 
128 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 


XI 


March  2.  The  truth  of  the  difference 
of  quality  between  the  business  man  and 
the  scholar  was  quickly  brought  home 
to  me.  On  the  last  evening  of  my  visit, 
Mr.  Blodgett  revealed  the  reason  for  his 
latest  kindness.  "I  got  you  here,"  he 
explained,  "to  look  you  over  and  see 
what  you  were  fit  for,  thinking  I  might 
work  you  in  somewhere.  No,"  he  con 
tinued,  as  he  saw  the  questioning  hope 
fulness  on  my  face,  "  you  would  n't  do  in 
business.  You  've  got  a  sight  too  much 
conscience  and  sympathy,  and  a  sight 
too  little  drive.  All  business  is  getting 
the  best  of  somebody  else,  and  you  're 
the  kind  of  chap  who  'd  let  a  fellow  up 
just  because  you  'd  got  him  down."  See 
ing  the  sadness  in  my  face,  for  I  knew 
too  well  he  had  fathomed  me,  he  added 
129 


THE    STORY    OF 

kindly,  "  Don't  get  chicken-hearted  over 
what  I  say.  It 's  easy  enough  to  outwit 
a  man ;  the  hard  thing  is  not  to  do  it. 
I  'd  go  out  of  the  trade  to-morrow,  if  it 
weren't  for  the  boss  and  Agnes,  for  I 
get  tired  of  the  meanness  of  the  whole 
thing.  But  they  want  to  cut  a  figure, 
and  that  is  n't  to  be  done  in  this  town 
for  nothing.  I  '11  find  something  for  you 
yet  that  sha'n't  make  you  sell  your  heart 
and  your  soul  as  well  as  your  time." 

I  was  too  full  of  my  love  and  my  pur 
pose,  however,  for  this  to  discourage  me. 
The  moment  my  determination  to  remain 
in  New  York  was  taken,  I  wrote  to  Jas- 
trow,  Humzel,  and  others  of  my  German 
friends,  telling  them  that  for  business 
reasons  I  had  decided  to  be  known  as 
Rudolph  Hartzmann,  and  asking  if  they 
would  stretch  friendship  so  far  as  to  give 
me  letters  in  that  name  to  such  Ameri 
can  publishers  and  editors  as  they  knew. 
Excepting  Jastrow,  they  all  responded 
with  introductions  so  flattering  that  I 
130 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

was  almost  ashamed  to  present  them, 
and  he  wrote  me  that  he  had  not  offered 
my  books  for  sale,  and  begged  me  to  re 
consider  my  refusal  of  the  professorship. 
He  even  offered,  if  I  would  accept  the 
appointment,  to  divide  with  me  his  tuition 
fees,  and  suggested  that  his  own  advan 
cing  years  were  a  pledge  that  his  position 
would  erelong  be  vacant  for  me  to  step 
into.  It  almost  broke  my  heart  to  have 
to  write  him  that  I  could  not  accept  his 
generous  offer.  In  July  I  received  a  sec 
ond  letter  from  him,  most  touching  in  its 
attempt  to  keep  back  the  grief  he  felt, 
but  yielding  to  my  determination.  He 
sent  me  many  good  introductions,  and 
submitted  a  bid  for  my  library  from  a 
bookseller  ;  but  knowing  the  books  to  be 
worth  at  least  double  the  offer,  I  held 
the  sale  in  abeyance. 

My  first  six  months  in  New  York  dis 
heartened  me  greatly,  though  now  I 
know  that  I  succeeded  far  better  than  I 
could  have  expected  to  do,  in  the  dull- 


THE    STORY    OF 

ness  of  the  summer.  My  work  was  the 
proof-reading  of  my  book  of  travel  in 
its  varying  polyglots,  seeing  through  the 
press  English  versions  of  my  two  text 
books,  and  writing  a  third  in  both  English 
and  German.  Furthermore,  my  letters 
of  introduction  had  made  me  known  to 
a  number  of  the  professors  of  Columbia 
College,  and  by  their  influence  I  received 
an  appointment  to  deliver  a  course  of 
lectures  on  race  movements  the  following 
winter;  so  I  prepared  my  notes  in  this 
leisure  time.  But  this  work  was  far  too 
little  to  fill  my  time,  and  I  wrote  all 
kinds  of  editorials,  essays,  and  reviews, 
fairly  wearing  out  the  editors  of  the 
various  magazines  and  newspapers  with 
my  frequent  calls  and  articles.  Finally 
I  attempted  to  sell  my  books  to  several 
libraries  ;  but  though  the  tomes  and  the 
price  both  tempted  several,  none  had  the 
money  to  spend  on  such  a  collection. 

My  book  of  travel  was  published  in 
September,  was  praised  by  the  reviews, 
132 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

and  at  once  sprang  into  a  good  sale  for 
a  work  of  that  class  ;  for  Europe  is  inter 
ested  in  whatever  bears  on  her  cancer 
growth,  commonly  called  the  Eastern 
question.  Since  Europeans  approved  the 
book,  Americans  at  once  bought  and  dis 
cussed  it ;  to  prove,  I  suppose,  that  as 
a  nation  we  are  no  longer  tainted  with 
provincialism,  —  as  if  that  very  subser 
vience  to  transatlantic  opinion  were  not 
the  best  proof  that  the  virus  still  works 
within  us.  It  was  issued  anonymously, 
through  the  fear  that  if  I  put  my  pseu 
donym  on  the  title-page  it  might  lead  to 
inquiry  about  the  author  which  would  re 
veal  his  identity  with  Donald  Maitland, 
for  whom  I  only  wished  oblivion.  As  a 
result  the  question  of  authorship  was 
much  mooted,  some  declaring  a  well- 
known  Oxford  professor  to  be  the  man, 
others  ascribing  the  volume  to  a  famous 
German  traveler,  and  Humzel  being 
named  by  some  ;  but  most  of  the  reviews 
suggested  that  it  was  the  work  of  an 


THE    STORY    OF 

Eastern  savant,  and  I  presume  that  my 
style  was  tinged  with  orientalism. 

You  cannot  tell  what  a  delight  it  was 
to  me  to  learn,  at  our  first  meeting  in  the 
autumn,  that  you  had  read  my  book.  I 
went  in  November  to  the  Lenox  Library 
to  verify  a  date,  and  found  you  there.  I 
could  not  help  interrupting  your  reading 
for  a  moment,  —  I  had  so  longed  for  a 
glimpse  and  a  word,  —  and  you  took  my 
intrusion  in  good  part.  I  drew  a  book 
and  pretended  to  read,  merely  to  veil  my 
covert  watching  of  you  ;  and  when  you 
rose  to  go,  I  asked  permission  to  walk 
with  you. 

"  Your  notebook  suggests  that  you  are 
a  writer  by  profession,  Dr.  Hartzmann  ? " 
you  surmised. 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  to  come  to  America 
for  material  ?  " 

"I  have  come  to  America  perma 
nently." 

"  How  unusual ! " 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  In  what  respect  ? " 

"  For  a  European  writer  to  come  to 
New  York  to  do  more  than  lecture  about 
himself,  have  his  vanity  and  purse  fed, 
and  return  home  to  write  a  book  about 
us  that  we  alone  read." 

I  laughed  and  said,  "You  make  me 
very  glad  that  I  am  the  exception  to  the 
rule." 

"  I  presume  more  would  make  the  ven 
ture  if  they  found  the  atmosphere  less 
uncongenial.  New  York  as  a  whole  is 
so  absorbed  in  the  task  of  trans-shipping 
the  products  of  the  busiest  nations  of 
two  continents  that  everything  is  ranked 
as  secondary  that  does  not  subserve  that 
end  :  and  the  Muses  starve." 

"  I  suppose  New  York  is  not  the  best 
of  places  in  which  to  live  by  art  or  let 
ters,  if  compared  with  London  or  Paris  ; 
yet  if  a  man  can  do  what  the  world 
wants  done,  he  can  earn  a  livelihood 
here." 

"  But  he  cannot  gain  the  great  prizes 


THE    STORY    OF 

that  alone  are  worth  the  winning,  I  fear. 
I  have  noticed  that  American  writers 
only  reach  American  audiences,  while 
European  authors  not  merely  win  atten 
tion  at  home,  but  have  vogue  and  sale 
here.  The  London  or  Paris  label  is  quite 
as  effective  in  New  York  or  Chicago  in 
selling  books  as  in  selling  clothes." 

"  I  suppose  cultivated  Europe  is  as 
heedless  of  the  newer  peoples  as  the  peo 
ples  of  the  Orient  are  of  those  of  the  Oc 
cident.  Yet  I  think  that  if  as  good  work 
were  turned  out  in  this  country  as  in  the 
Old  World,  the  place  of  its  production 
would  not  seriously  militate  against  its 
success." 

"  And  have  you  found  it  so  ? " 

"  Nothing  I  have  yet  written  in  this 
country  merits  Continental  attention." 

"I  hope  you  have  succeeded  to  your 
own  satisfaction  ? " 

"It  may  amuse  you  to  know  that 
though  I  had  many  good  letters  of  intro 
duction  to  editors  in  this  country,  I  could 
136 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

not  get  a  single  article  accepted  till  some 
friends  of  mine  in  Asia  came  to  my  aid." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles." 

"Perhaps  you  remember  reading,  last 
August,  of  an  outbreak  of  some  tribes  in 
the  Hindoo  Kush  ?  Those  hill  peoples 
are  in  a  state  of  perennial  ferment,  and 
usually  Europe  pays  no  attention  to  their 
bellicose  proceedings  ;  but  luckily  for  me, 
the  English  premier,  at  that  particular 
moment,  was  holding  his  unwilling  Par 
liament  together  in  an  attempt  to  pass 
something,  and  finding  it  intractable  in 
that  matter,  he  cleverly  used  this  out 
break  to  divert  attention  and  excite 
enthusiasm.  Rising  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  he  virtually  charged  the  out 
break  to  Russian  machination  against 
the  beloved  Emir,  and  pledged  the  nation 
to  support  that  civilized  humanitarian 
against  the  barbaric  despot  of  Russia. 
At  once  the  papers  were  full  of  unintelli 
gible  cablegrams  telling  of  the  doings  in 
those  far-away  mountains ;  and  my  hur- 
137 


THE   STORY    OF 

riedly  written  editorials  and  articles,  which 
nevertheless  showed  some  comprehen 
sion  of  the  geography  and  people,  were 
snapped  up  avidly,  and  from  that  time  I 
have  found  papers  or  periodicals  glad  to 
print  what  I  write." 

You  laughed,  and  said,  "  How  strangely 
the  world  is  tied  together  in  these  days, 
that  the  speech  of  an  English  prime  min 
ister  about  some  Asian  septs  should  give 
a  German  author  entree  to  New  York 
editorial  sanctums !  " 

"The  cables  have  done  more  in  aid 
of  the  brotherhood  of  man  than  all  the 
efforts  of  the  missionaries." 

"I  thought  you  were  a  conservative, 
and  disapproved  of  modern  innovations," 
you  suggested  archly. 

"  With  innovators,  yes." 

"  Then  the  Levantine  does  not  entirely 
disapprove  of  our  Hesperian  city  ? " 

"  My  knowledge  of  New  York  is  about 
as  deep,"  I  answered,  smiling,  "as  my 
Eastern  blood." 

138 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  Only  skin-deep,"  you  said. 
"Just  sufficient  for  a  disguise." 
"  As  long  as  you  are  silent,  yes." 
"  Is  my  English  so  unmistakable  ? " 
"Not  your  tongue,  but  your  thought. 
Of  course  your  vicinage,  costume,  and 
complexion  made  me  for  a  moment  ac 
cept  your  joke  of  nationality,  at  that  first 
meeting,  but  before  you  had  uttered  half 
your  defense  of  the  older  races  I   felt 
sure  that  you  were  not  a  product  of  one 
of  them." 

"  Why  was  that  ? " 

"Because  it  is  only  Christians  who 
recognize  and  speak  for  the  rights  of 
other  peoples." 

"  You  forget  that  the  religion  of  Bud 
dha  is  toleration.  We  Christians  preach 
the  doctrine,  but  practice  extermination, 
forgiving  our  enemies  after  killing  them," 
I  corrected.  "  I  do  not  think  we  differ 
much  in  works  from  even  El  Mahdi." 

"Would  El  Mahdi  ever  have  spoken 
for  other  races  ?  " 

139 


THE    STORY    OF 

"You  know  the  weak  spot  in  my 
armor,  Miss  Walton,"  I  was  obliged  to 
confess. 

"  That  is  due  to  you,  Dr.  Hartzmann. 
What  you  stated  that  night  interested 
me  so  deeply  that  I  have  been  reading 
up  about  the  Eastern  races  and  problems. 
I  wonder  if  you  have  seen  this  new  book 
of  travel,  The  Debatable  Lands  between 
the  East  and  West  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  thinking  that  twenty 
over  -  lockings  of  it  in  manuscript  and 
proof  entitled  me  to  make  the  claim. 

"You  will  be  amused  to  hear  that, 
when  reading  it,  I  thought  of  you  as  the 
probable  writer,  not  merely  because  it 
begins  in  the  Altai  range  and  ends  at 
Tangier,  but  as  well  because  some  of  the 
ideas  resemble  yours.  Mr.  Whitely,  how 
ever,  tells  me  he  has  private  information 
that  Professor  Humzel  is  the  author. 
Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"He  was  my  professor  of  history  at 
Leipzig." 

140 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"That  accounts  for  the  agreement  in 
thought.  You  admire  the  book  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is  a  conscientious  attempt 
to  describe  what  the  author  saw." 

"  Ah,  it  is  much  more  than  that ! " 
you  exclaimed.  "  At  a  dinner  in  London, 
this  autumn,  I  sat  next  the  Earl  —  next 
a  member  of  the  Indian  Council,  and  he 
told  me  he  considered  it  a  far  more  bril 
liant  book  than  Kinglake's  Eothen." 

I  knew  I  had  no  right  to  continue  this 
subject,  but  I  could  not  help  asking, 
"You  liked  it?" 

"  Very  much.  It  seems  to  me  a  deep 
and  philosophic  study  of  present  and 
future  problems,  besides  being  a  vivid 
picture  of  most  interesting  countries  and 
peoples.  It  made  me  long  to  be  a  nomad 
myself,  and  wander  as  the  author  did. 
The  thought  of  three  years  of  such  life, 
of  such  freedom,  seems  to  stir  in  me 
all  the  inherited  tendency  to  prowl  that 
we  women  supposedly  get  from  Mother 
Sphinx. " 

141 


THE   STORY   OF 

"  Civilization  steals  nature  from  us  and 
compounds  the  theft  with  art." 

"Tell  me  about  Professor  Humzel," 
you  went  on,  "  for  I  know  I  should  like 
him,  merely  from  the  way  he  writes. 
One  always  pictures  the  German  profes 
sor  as  a  dried-up  mind  in  a  dried-up  body, 
but  in  this  book  one  is  conscious  of  real 
flesh  and  blood.  He  is  a  young  man, 
I  'm  sure." 

"  Sixty-two." 

"He  has  a  young  heart,  then,"  you  as 
serted.  "  Is  he  as  interesting  to  talk  with 
as  he  makes  himself  in  his  book  ?  " 

"Professor  Humzel  is  very  silent." 

"The  people  who  have  something  to 
say  are  usually  so,"  you  sighed. 

"A  drum  must  be  empty  to  make  a 
noise,"  I  said,  smiling,  "  and  perhaps  the 
converse  is  true." 

I  cannot  say  what  there  was  in  that 

walk  which  cheered  me  so,  except  your 

praise  of  my  book,  —  sweeter  far  though 

that  was  than  the  world's  kindly  opinion: 

142 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

yet  over  and  above  that,  in  our  brief  in 
terchange  of  words,  I  was  made  conscious 
that  there  was  sympathy  between  us,  — 
a  sympathy  so  positive  that  something 
like  our  old-time  friendship  seemed  be 
ginning.  And  the  thought  made  me  so 
happy  that  for  a  time  my  troubles  were 
almost  forgotten. 
Good-night,  Maizie. 


THE   STORY   OF 


XII 

March  3.  Fate  seemed  determined  that 
our  lives  should  be  closely  connected. 
In  December  Mr.  Blodgett  wrote  asking 
me  to  call  at  his  office,  and  he  was  al 
ready  smiling  when  his  boy  passed  me 
through  the  door  at  which  so  many  had 
to  tarry. 

"There  are  a  good  many  kinds  of 
fools,"  was  his  welcoming  remark,  "but 
one  of  the  commonest  is  the  brand  who 
think  because  they  can  do  one  thing  well, 
they  ought  to  be  able  to  do  the  exact 
opposite.  I  Ve  known  men  who  could 
grow  rich  out  of  brewing  beer,  who  kept 
themselves  poor  through  thinking  they 
knew  all  about  horses ;  I  've  known  wo 
men  who  queened  it  in  parlors,  who  went 
to  smash  because  they  believed  them 
selves  inspired  actresses ;  I  Ve  sat  here 
144 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

in  this  office  thirty  years,  and  grown  rich 
through  the  belief  of  clergymen,  doctors, 
merchants,  farmers,  —  the  whole  box  and 
dice,  —  that  they  were  heaven-born  finan 
ciers,  and  could  play  us  Wall  Street  men 
even  at  our  own  game.  Whatever  else 
you  do  in  this  world,  doctor,  don't  think 
that  because  you  can  talk  a  dozen  lan 
guages,  they  fit  you  to  be  a  successful 
mute." 

"  When  you  are  in  this  mood,  Mr. 
Blodgett,  I  can  be  nothing  else,"  I  in 
terpolated,  as  he  paused  a  moment  for 
breath. 

"Alexander  Whitely,"  he  went  on, 
smiling,  "probably  knows  more  about 
petroleum  and  kerosene  than  any  other 
man  in  the  world,  and  he 's  made  himself 
rich  by  his  knowledge.  But  it  does  n't 
satisfy  him  to  be  on  the  top  of  his  own 
heap ;  he  wants  to  get  on  the  top  of  some 
other  fellow's.  In  short,  he  has  an  itch 
to  be  something  he  is  n't,  and  the  darned 
fool 's  gone  and  bought  a  daily  newspaper 
'45 


THE   STORY    OF 

with  the  idea  that  he  is  going  to  be  a 
great  editor ! " 

"His  lamp  of  genius  will  not  go  out 
for  want  of  oil,"  I  remarked. 

"For  a  moment  he  showed  one  glim 
mer  of  sense  :  he  came  to  me  for  advice," 
said  Mr.  Blodgett  in  evident  enjoyment. 
"  I  told  him  to  get  an  A  i  business  man 
ager,  to  make  you  chief  editor,  let  you 
pick  your  staff,  and  then  blow  in  all  the 
money  you  and  the  business  end  asked 
for,  and  never  go  inside  the  building  him 
self.  It  was  too  good  sense  for  him,  for 
he  's  daft  with  the  idea  of  showing  the 
world  how  to  edit  a  paper.  But  my  ad 
vice  simmered  down  to  this  :  if  you  want 
to  be  his  private  secretary,  at  four  thou 
sand  a  year,  and  pretend  to  revise  his 
editorials,  but  really  write  them  for  him, 
I  guess  you  can  have  the  position.  Of 
course  he  is  to  think  he  writes  the  rub 
bish." 

"A  Voltaire  in  miniature,"  I  laughed. 

«  A  what?" 

146 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"The  great  Frederic  thought  himself  a 
poet,  and  induced  Voltaire  to  come  and 
be  his  literary  counselor.  The  latter 
showed  a  bundle  of  manuscripts  to  some 
one  and  sneered,  '  See  all  this  dirty  linen 
of  the  king's  he  has  sent  me  to  wash.'  " 

"  That  was  one  for  his  nibs,"  chuckled 
Mr.  Blodgett  appreciatively.  "  But  you 
must  n't  make  such  speeches  as  that  of 
Whitely." 

"  In  spite  of  my  many  tongues,  I  can 
be  mute." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  n't  seen  that  ? 
And  I  've  seen  something  more,  which  is 
that  you  always  give  a  dollar's  worth  of 
work  for  seventy  -  five  cents  of  wages. 
Now,  Whitely  's  a  hard  man,  and  if  you 
made  the  terms  with  him  he'd  be  sure 
to  get  the  better  of  you.  So  I  've  ar 
ranged  to  have  him  meet  you  here,  and 
I  'm  going  to  see  fair  play.  I  've  told 
him  you  won't  do  it  for  less  than  four 
thousand,  and  he'll  not  get  you  a  cent 
cheaper.  The  work  will  be  very  light." 
147 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  The  work  is  easy,"  I  assented,  "  but 
is  it  honest  ? " 

"  Seems  to  me  we  had  better  leave 
that  to  Whitely  to  settle." 

"  And  is  Mr.  Whitely  an  honest  man  ? " 

Mr.  Blodgett  smiled  as  he  looked  at  me, 
and  observed,  "  Whitely  would  n't  steal  a 
red-hot  stove  unless  it  had  handles  !  But 
he  probably  thinks  this  all  right.  Few 
people  know  how  much  successful  men 
use  other  men's  brains.  Here 's  a  report 
on  a  Southern  railroad  by  an  expert  in 
my  employ.  I  Ve  never  even  been  over 
the  road,  yet  I  '11  sign  my  name  to  the 
report  as  if  it  was  my  work.  Now,  in  oil 
Whitely  hires  all  kinds  of  men  to  do  dif 
ferent  things  for  him,  and  he  gets  what 
ever  credit  follows ;  and  I  suppose  he 
thinks  that  if  he  pays  you  to  write  edito 
rials,  they  are  as  much  his  as  any  other 
thing  he  buys." 

"  He  must  be  conscious  of  a  distinc 
tion." 

"That's  his  lookout,  if  he  is.  Don't 
148 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

start  in  to  keep  other  people's  con. 
sciences  in  order,  doctor,  for  it 's  tha 
hardest-worked  and  poorest-paid  trade  in 
the  world." 

When  Mr.  Whitely  arrived,  Mr.  Blod- 
gett  was  as  good  as  his  word,  taking  the 
matter  practically  out  of  my  hands,  and 
letting  me  sit  a  passive  and  amused 
spectator  of  the  contest  between  the  two 
shrewd  men,  who  dropped  all  thought  of 
personal  friendship  while  they  discussed 
the  matter.  Mr.  Blodgett  won,  and  made 
the  further  stipulation  that  since  Mr. 
Whitely  intended  to  be  at  the  office  only 
in  the  afternoon,  I  might  be  equally  priv 
ileged  as  to  my  hours  of  attendance. 
His  forethought  and  kindness  did  more, 
for  his  last  speech  to  Mr.  Whitely  was, 
"Then  it's  understood  that  the  doctor 
writes  your  letters  and  revises  your  edi 
torials,  but  nothing  else."  And  as  soon 
as  we  were  alone  he  intimated,  "  Remem 
ber  that,  or  before  you  know  it  he  '11  be 
*crewing  you  to  death.  Don't  you  write 
149 


THE   STORY   OF 

anything  extra  for  him  unless  there 's 
extra  pay.  Now,  don't  waste  my  time 
by  thanks  in  business  hours,  but  come  in 
to-night  to  dinner,  so  as  to  let  the  boss 
and  Agnes  congratulate  you." 

My  employment  began  the  first  of  the 
year,  at  which  time  the  paper  came  into 
the  hands  of  its  new  proprietor;  and  it 
amuses  me  to  recall  him  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk  that  first  day,  thrumming  it  ner 
vously,  and  trying  to  dictate  an  editorial 
on  The  Outlook  for  the  New  Year.  A 
more  hopeless  bit  of  composition  I  have 
seldom  read,  and  four  times  it  was  rewrit 
ten  as  I  built  it  into  shape. 

The  man  has  no  more  sense  of  form 
than  he  has  of  English.  Even  worse,  he 
is  almost  without  ideas.  It  has  become 
his  invariable  custom  to  remark  to  me 
suavely,  as  he  takes  his  seat  at  his  desk 
about  two  o'clock,  "  Dr.  Hartzmann,  pos 
sibly  you  can  suggest  a  good  subject  for 
me  to  write  about  to-day  ?  "  And  when 
I  propose  one,  he  continues :  "  That  is 
150 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

satisfactory.  Jot  down  what  you  think 
I  had  better  say,  while  I  run  over  my 
mail."  An  hour  later  I  lay  the  type 
written  sheets  before  him,  and,  after 
reading  them  with  the  most  evident 
pleasure,  he  puts  his  initials  at  the  top 
and  sends  the  editorial  out  to  the  manag 
ing  editor;  to  have  a  second  pleasure 
when,  after  two  hours,  the  galley  slips  of 
proof  come  back  to  him. 

Fortunately  for  me,  he  cares  no  more 
for  politics  than  I  do,  and  thus  saves  me 
from  the  necessity  of  studying  and  mas 
tering  that  shifting  quicksand  against 
which  beat  the  tides  of  men,  ebbing  as 
private  greed  obtains  the  mastery,  and 
flowing  in  those  curious  revulsions  of 
selfishly  altruistic  public  spirit  called  pa 
triotism.  Except  for  this  subject  his 
taste  is  catholic,  and  his  foible  is  to  pose 
as  omniscient.  "  I  wish  new  subjects,  — 
something,  if  possible,  that  intellectual 
people  do  not  know  about,"  —  is  his  con 
stant  command ;  and  nothing  delights 


THE    STORY    OF 

him  more  than  an  editorial  on  a  subject 
of  which  he  has  never  heard.  Speaking 
only  his  mother  tongue,  he  has  an  inordi 
nate  desire  for  foreign  words,  and  will 
observe,  "A  quotation  in  another  lan 
guage  gives  an  editorial  page  an  air  of 
culture  which  I  desire  my  paper  to  have." 
Our  composing-room,  I  imagine,  is  the 
only  one  in  New  York  which  has  Greek 
type,  and  if  I  gave  him  the  smallest  en 
couragement  he  would  buy  fonts  of  San 
skrit  and  Hebrew  characters.  He  always 
makes  me  teach  him  how  to  pronounce 
the  sentences,  catching  them  with  a  won 
derful  parrot-like  facility.  Usually  be 
carries  clippings  of  the  last  half  dozen 
editorials  with  him,  and  his  delight  is  to 
make  an  opportunity  to  read  one  aloud, 
prefaced  by  the  announcement  that  he  ij 
the  writer.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  can 
not  contain  his  pleasure  over  the  articles 
till  their  appearance  in  type,  and  I  re 
peatedly  hear  him  request  a  visitor,  "  If 
you  have  ten  minutes  to  spare,  let  me 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

read  you  this  editorial  I  have  just  written 
for  to-morrow's  issue." 

At  first,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Blodgett's  ex 
planation,  I  thought  this  real  dishonesty, 
and  despised  not  merely  him,  but  myself 
as  well  for  aiding  in  such  trickery.  As  I 
grow  to  know  him  better,  however,  I  find 
he  is  not  cozening  the  public  so  much 
as  imposing  on  himself.  The  man  has  a 
fervent  and  untrained  imagination,  which 
has  never,  in  the  practicalities  of  oil,  had 
a  safety-valve.  As  a  result,  it  has  rioted 
in  dreams  of  which  he  is  the  hero,  until 
it  has  brought  him  to  the  point  of  think 
ing  his  wildest  fancies  quite  possible  re 
alities.  His  self-faith  is  so  great  that  his 
imagination  sets  no  limit  to  his  powers, 
and  thus  he  can  believe  everything  of 
himself.  I  have  heard  him  tell  what  he 
would  do  under  given  circumstances,  and, 
with  my  knowledge  of  him,  I  know  he  is 
conceiving  himself  to  be  actually  doing 
what  he  describes.  Thus,  in  a  smaller 
sense,  he  really  imagines  that  he  writes 


THE    STORY    OF 

the  editorials,  and  he  even  reads  them 
to  Mr.  Blodgett,  apparently  unconscious 
that  there  can  be  the  slightest  question 
of  authorship  in  the  latter's  mind. 

With  this  singular  weakness  the  man 
is  yet  a  strong  one.  His  capacity  to 
judge  and  manage  men  or  facts  is  truly 
marvelous.  He  rules  his  paper  as  he 
rules  everything,  with  the  firmest  hand, 
and  not  a  man  in  his  employ  but  knows 
who  is  master.  Within  a  year  he  turned 
the  journal  into  a  great  earner  of  money, 
and  in  the  business  office  they  have  to 
confess  that  it  is  all  his  work,  ignorant 
though  he  is  to  this  day  of  the  details. 
He  knows  by  instinct  where  money 
should  be  spent,  and  where  it  should  be 
scrimped.  Yet  with  all  this  business 
shrewdness  he  cares  not  half  so  much 
that  his  investment  is  paying  him  twenty 
per  cent  as  that  people  are  talking  about 
his  ability  as  an  editor,  and  my  only  in 
fluence  over  him  even  now  is  the  praise 
my  editorials  have  won  him. 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Perhaps  the  most  singular  quality  of 
his  nature  is  his  heedlessness  of  individ 
ual  opinion,  and  his  dread  of  it  in  mass. 
He  is  so  absolutely  self-centred  —  every 
thought  directed  inward  —  that  he  never 
tries  to  make  the  individual  like  him,  yet 
he  craves  intensely  the  world's  esteem. 
He  longs  for  notoriety,  and  even  stoops 
to  an  almost  daily  mention  of  himself  in 
his  paper,  taking  endless  pains  to  get  his 
name  into  other  journals  as  well.  Ever 
his  philanthropy,  for  which  the  world 
admires  him,  is  used  for  this  purpose. 
Ridiculous  as  it  may  seem,  the  most 
grating  task  I  have  to  do  is  the  writing 
of  the  fulsome  press  dispatches  which  he 
invariably  sends  out  whenever  he  makes 
one  of  his  gifts.  He  writes,  too,  to  his 
fellow  editors,  asking  them  to  comment 
on  the  largess  ;  and  since  he  makes  it 
a  point  to  cultivate  the  pleasantest  rela 
tions  with  his  confreres,  they  give  him 
good  measure,  though  with  many  a  smile 
and  wink  among  themselves  when  they 
'55 


THE    STORY   OF 

get  together.  "Mr.  White-Lie"  is  his 
sobriquet  in  the  fraternity. 

How  curiously  diverse  the  same  man 
is  to  different  people!  To  the  world  Mr. 
Whitely  is  a  man  of  great  business  abil 
ity,  of  wide  knowledge,  of  great  benevo 
lence,  and  of  fine  manners.  I  do  not 
wonder,  Maizie,  that  he  imposes  on  you  ; 
for  though  you  have  discernment,  yet 
you  are  not  of  a  suspicious  nature,  and 
his  acting  is  so  wonderful  and  his  manner 
so  frank,  through  his  own  unconscious 
ness  of  his  self-deceit,  that  not  a  dozen 
people  dream  the  man  is  other  than  he 
seems.  You  might,  perhaps,  in  spite  of 
his  taciturnity,  have  discovered  his  char 
latan  pretense  of  learning  if  you  had 
been  born  inquisitive,  but  you  take  his 
writings  for  the  measure  of  his  intellect, 
and  have  no  more  reason  to  suspect  that 
his  skillful  reservations  are  the  refuge 
of  a  sciolist  than  that  my  silence  covers 
such  little  erudition  as  I  have. 

Why  I  can  do  naught  else  but  sit  here 
156 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

and  write  of  the  past  I  do  not  under 
stand.  Until  a  month  ago  I  was  working 
every  evening  till  far  into  the  night,  but 
now,  try  as  I  may,  I  can  no  longer  force 
myself  to  my  task.  I  should  think  it  was 
physical  exhaustion,  were  it  not  that  I 
can  chronicle  this  stale  record  of  what 
I  know  so  well.  I  suppose  it  is  mental 
discouragement  at  my  slight  progress  in 
reducing  that  crushing  debt,  and,  even 
more,  my  sadness  at  the  thought  of  you 
as  his  wife. 

Good-night,  my  darling.     May  happi 
ness  be  yours. 


THE  STORY   OF 


XIII 

March  4.  My  impressions  of  that  first 
winter  in  New  York  are  curiously  dim 
except  for  the  extreme  loneliness  of  my 
life,  which,  after  the  close  companionship 
with  my  father  for  so  many  years,  seemed 
at  times  almost  unbearable.  Indeed,  I 
doubt  if  I  could  have  borne  the  long 
hours  of  solitude  and  toil  but  for  my  oc 
casional  glimpses  of  you.  I  should  think 
myself  fatuous  in  claiming  that  you  in 
fluence  me  physically,  —  that  I  am  con 
scious  of  a  material  glow,  ecstasy,  thrill, 
call  it  what  you  please,  when  with  you, 
—  if  I  had  not  once  heard  Agnes  de 
clare  that  she  always  felt,  when  you  were 
in  the  room,  as  if  she  had  been  drinking 
champagne ;  showing  that  I  am  not  the 
only  one  you  can  thus  affect. 

My  pleasantest  recollection  is  of  our 
158 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

long  talk  in  my  employer's  study ;  and 
strangely  enough,  it  was  my  books  which 
gained  it  for  me.  Mr.  Whitely,  when  I 
first  came  into  his  service,  had  just  en 
dowed  a  free  library  in  one  of  the  West 
ern  cities  where  some  of  his  oil  interests 
centred,  and  I  hinted  to  him  the  pur 
chase  of  my  books  as  a  further  gift  to 
his  hobby.  The  suggestion  did  not  meet 
with  his  approval,  —  I  fear  because  there 
was  not  the  self-advertising  in  it  that 
there  is  in  a  money  gift,  —  but  after  a 
week  he  told  me  that  he  might  buy  the 
collection  to  furnish  his  editorial  study. 
"I  plan,"  he  said,  "to  make  my  office  at 
tractive,  and  then  have  informal  literary 
receptions  once  a  week.  I  shall  therefore 
require  some  books,  and  as  your  library 
should  be  marked  by  breadth  and  depth 
of  learning,  I  presume  it  will  serve  my 
purpose." 

"There  are  quite  a  number  of  East 
ern  manuscripts  of  value,"   I  told  him, 
"  and  few  of  the  books  are  in  languages 
159 


THE   STORY   OF 

that  can  be  read  by  the  average  New 
Yorker." 

"  That  gives  the  suggestion  of  scholar 
ship  which  I  wish,"  he  acknowledged. 

We  easily  came  to  terms  under  these 
circumstances,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
happy  I  was  to  find  myself  once  more 
surrounded  by  my  books.  As  soon  as 
they  were  in  place  and  the  study  was 
handsomely  furnished,  my  employer  is 
sued  cards ;  and  though  he  had  nothing 
in  common  with  the  literary  and  artistic 
set,  the  mere  fact  that  he  controlled  the 
columns  of  a  great  paper  brought  them 
all  flocking  to  his  afternoons.  It  is  a 
case  of  mutual  cultivation,  and  I  am  sick 
of  being  told  to  write  puffs  of  books  and 
pictures.  Even  foreigners  do  not  seem 
above  this  log-rolling,  and  toady  to  the 
editor  of  the  influential  journal.  And 
yet  we  think  Johnson  mean-spirited  for 
standing  at  Chesterfield's  door !  It  hu 
miliates  me  to  see  writers  and  artists 
stooping  so  low  merely  to  get  notices 
160 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

that  are  worthless  in  a  critical  sense,  and 
doubly  am  I  degraded  that  mine  is  the 
pen  that  aids  in  this  contemptible  chi 
cane. 

You,  Mrs.  Blodgett,  and  Agnes  came 
to  one  of  these  afternoons,  and  made  me 
happy,  not  alone  by  your  presence,  but 
by  an  insinuated  reproof,  which  meant,  I 
thought,  that  you  had  become  enough  in 
terested  in  me  to  care  what  I  did.  You 
expressed  surprise  at  my  being  there, 
and  so  I  explained  to  you  that  I  had  be 
come  Mr.  Whitely's  secretary. 

"  And  is  your  work  congenial  ? "  you 
asked. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  quoted, 
"Civilized  man  cannot  live  without  din- 
ing." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  were  making  a 
living.  Is  not  a  crust  with  independence 
and  a  chance  to  make  a  name  better  than 
such  work  ? " 

"  If  one  is  free,  yes.  But  if  one  must 
earn  money  ? " 

161 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  I  had  somehow  fixed  it  in  my  mind 
that  you  were  en  garqon.  One's  fancies 
are  sometimes  very  ridiculous.  Who  in 
vented  the  mot  that  a  woman's  intuitions 
were  what  she  had  when  she  was  wrong  ? " 

"Some  man,  of  course,"  I  laughed. 
"  And  you  were  right  in  supposing  me  a 
bachelor." 

"  How  little  people  really  know  about 
one  another,"  you  observed,  "  and  yet  we 
talk  of  the  realism  of  life!  I  believe  it 
is  only  in  fiction  that  we  get  it." 

"  Napoleon  said,  '  Take  away  history 
and  give  me  a  novel :  I  wish  the  truth ! ' 
Certainly,  our  present  romance  writers 
attempt  it." 

"  Only  to  prove  that  truth  is  not  art." 

"  How  so  ? " 

"To  photograph  life  in  literature  is 
no  more  art  than  a  reproduction  of  our 
street  sounds  would  be  music." 

"Painting  and  sculpture  are  copying." 

"  And  the  closer  the  copy,  the  less  the 
art." 

162 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"Then  you  would  define  art  as"  — 

"  The  vivifying  of  work  with  the  per 
sonality  of  the  workman." 

"That  is  not  very  far  from  Saadi's 
thought  that  art  is  never  produced  with 
out  love." 

"I  have  to  confess  that  you  mention 
an  author  of  whom  I  had  never  even 
heard  till  I  read  The  Debatable  Lands. 
The  extracts  printed  there  made  me  think 
he  must  be  one  of  the  great  philosopher 
poets  of  the  world.  Yet  there  is  no  copy 
of  his  works  at  the  Lenox." 

"  There  are  copies  of  all  his  writings 
here." 

"  I  think  I  shall  disobey  Polonius  by 
trying  to  be  a  borrower,"  you  announced, 
and  turning  to  Mr.  Whitely,  you  asked, 
"  Do  you  ever  loan  your  books  ? " 

"  To  lend  to  you  would  be  a  pleasure, 
and  give  added  value  to  the  volume,"  as 
sented  Mr.  Whitely,  joining  us.  "Take 
anything  you  wish." 

"Thank  you  so  much.  Will  you  lei 
163 


THE   STORY    OF 

me  see  what  you  have  of  Saadi,  so  that  I 
may  take  my  choice  ? " 

"  You  were  speaking  of  "  —  hemmed 
Mr.  Whitely. 

"SaadL" 

"Ah,  yes.  Dr.  Hartzmann  knows 
where  it  is." 

When  I  had  led  the  way  to  the  proper 
shelf,  you  selected  the  Gulistan,  opened 
it,  and  then  laughed.  "You  have  the 
best  protection  against  borrowers.  I 
envy  both  of  you  the  ability  to  read  him 
in  the  original,  but  it  is  beyond  me." 

"  As  you  read  Latin,  you  can  read 
Gentius'  translation  of  the  Bostan,"  I 
suggested,  taking  the  book  down. 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  can  read 
Latin  ? "  you  asked. 

I  faltered  for  a  moment,  too  much 
taken  aback  to  think  what  to  reply, 
and  fortunately  Mr.  Whitely  interposed 
quickly,  "Miss  Walton's  reputation  for 
learning  is  so  well  recognized  that  know 
ledge  of  Latin  is  taken  for  granted." 
164 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Taking  advantage  of  the  compliment, 
I  surmised,  "  Perhaps  you  will  care  less 
to  read  the  poet  if  I  quote  a  stanza  of 
his :  — 

'  Seek  truth  from  life,  and  not  from  books,  O  fool  I 
Look  at  the  sky  to  find  the  stars,  not  in  the  pool.'  " 

"  You  only  make  me  the  more  eager," 
you  said,  running  over  the  pages. 

"  The  book  is  worth  reading,"  vouched 
Mr.  Whitely. 

"  How  good  that  is !  "  you  appealed  to 
him,  laying  your  finger  on  lines  to  the 
effect  that  a  dozen  poor  men  will  sleep  in 
peace  on  a  straw  heap,  while  the  greatest 
empire  is  too  narrow  for  two  kings. 

"  Very,"  answered  my  employer,  after 
looking  at  the  text  with  a  critical  air.  If 
you  could  only  have  enjoyed  the  joke 
with  me ! 

Suddenly,  as  I  watched  you,  you  be 
came  pale,  and  glancing  down  to  learn 
the  cause,  I  saw  a  manuscript  note  in  my 
father's  handwriting  on  the  margin  of 
the  page. 

165 


THE    STORY    OF 

"Mr.  Whitely,"  you  asked  huskily, 
"  how  did  you  get  this  book  ? " 

Had  you  looked  at  me  you  would  have 
seen  one  paler  than  yourself,  as  I  stood 
there  expecting  the  axe  to  fall.  Oh ! 
the  relief  when  Mr.  Whitely  replied,  "  I 
bought  it  in  Germany." 

You  closed  the  volume,  remarking,  "  I 
do  not  think  I  will  ask  the  loan,  after  all. 
He  seems  an  author  one  ought  to  own." 

"  I  hoped  you  would  add  an  association 
to  the  book,"  urged  Mr.  Whitely. 

"Thank  you,"  you  parried  gravely, 
"  but  so  old  a  volume  can  hardly  be  lack 
ing  in  association.  I  think  we  must  be 
going." 

I  took  you  down  to  the  carriage,  and 
Mrs.  Blodgett  kindly  offered  me  the 
fourth  seat.  You  were  absolutely  silent 
in  the  drive  up-town,  and  I  was  scarcely 
less  so  as  I  tried  to  read  your  thoughts. 
What  feelings  had  that  scrap  of  writing 
stirred  in  you  ? 

I  have  often  since  then  recalled  our 
»66 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

parting  words  that  afternoon,  and  won 
dered  if  I  allowed  a  mere  scruple  —  a 
cobweb  that  a  stronger  man  would  have 
brushed  aside  without  a  second  thought 
• — to  wreck  my  life.  If  I  had  taken 
what  you  offered  ?  Perhaps  the  time 
might  have  come  when  I  could  have  told 
you  of  my  trick,  and  you  would  have  for 
given  it.  Perhaps  — 

You  said  to  me  graciously,  when  we 
separated  at  your  door,  "  I  shall  be  very 
happy,  Dr.  Hartzmann,  if  you  will  come 
to  see  me." 

I  flushed  with  pleasure,  for  I  felt  it 
was  not  a  privilege  you  gave  to  many. 
But  even  as  I  hesitated  for  words  with 
which  to  express  my  gratitude,  I  realized 
that  I  had  no  moral  right  to  gain  your 
hospitality  by  means  of  my  false  name ; 
and  when  I  spoke  it  was  to  respond,  "  I 
thank  you  for  the  favor  most  deeply, 
Miss  Walton,  but  I  am  too  busy  a  man 
for  social  calls." 

Oh,  my  darling,  if  you  had  known 
167 


THE    STORY    OF 

what  those  few  words  cost  me,  and  the 
struggle  it  was  to  keep  my  voice  steady 
as  I  spoke  them !  For  I  knew  you  could 
only  take  them  to  mean  that  I  declined 
your  friendship.  Hide  my  shame  as  I 
might  try  to  do,  I  could  not  escape  its 
pains.  God  keep  you  from  such  suffer 
ing,  Maizie,  and  good-night. 
1 68 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 


XIV 

March  5.  Though  I  committed  the 
rudeness  of  refusing  to  call,  you  never  in 
our  subsequent  intercourse  varied  your 
manner  by  the  slightest  shade,  treating 
me  always  with  a  courtesy  I  ill  deserved. 
After  such  a  rebuff,  it  is  true,  you  were 
too  self-respecting  to  offer  me  again  any 
favor  tending  to  a  better  acquaintance, 
but  otherwise  you  bore  yourself  towards 
me  as  you  did  towards  the  thousand 
other  men  whom  you  were  obliged  to 
meet. 

Your  life  as  a  social  favorite,  and  mine 
as  a  literary  hack,  gave  little  opportunity 
for  our  seeing  each  other,  yet  we  met  far 
more  frequently  than  would  have  seemed 
possible.  Occasionally  I  found  you  at 
the  Blodgetts',  though  not  as  often  as 
our  informal  footing  in  that  household 
169 


THE    STORY    OF 

had  led  me  to  hope ;  for  you  were  in 
such  social  demand  that  your  morning 
hours  were  the  time  you  usually  took  to 
run  in  upon  them.  But  now  and  then 
we  lunched  or  dined  there,  and  Mrs. 
Blodgett  little  dreamed  how  willingly  I 
obeyed  her  positive  command  that  I  was 
to  come  to  every  one  of  her  afternoons 
when  Agnes  told  me  that  you  were  to 
receive  or  pour  tea.  Little  I  had  of 
your  attention,  for  you  were  a  magnet  to 
many,  but  I  could  stand  near  you  and 
could  watch  and  listen,  and  that  was 
happiness. 

A  cause  of  meeting  more  discordant  to 
me  was  furnished  by  my  employer.  I 
wrote  for  him  an  editorial  on  the  folk- 
leit  basis  of  the  Wagner  trilogy,  which 
I  suppose  he  sent  or  read  to  you ;  for 
it  resulted  in  a  box-party  to  attend  the 
series,  and  I  was  asked  to  be  one  of 
the  guests.  "Nothing  like  having  your 
books  of  reference  under  your  arm,"  was 
Mr.  Whitely's  way  of  telling  me  for  what 
170 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

purpose  I  was  wanted ;  and  I  presume 
that  was,  in  truth,  the  light  in  which  he 
viewed  me.  Though  I  scorned  such  ser 
vice,  the  mere  fact  that  you  were  to  be 
there  was  enough  to  make  me  accept. 
How  low  love  can  bring  a  man  if  his 
spirit  is  once  mastered  by  it ! 

I  would  have  sunk  far  deeper,  I  be 
lieve,  to  obtain  what  I  earned,  for  there 
were  delightful  moments  of  mutually 
absorbing  discussions,  only  too  quickly 
interrupted  by  Mr.  Whitely  or  others  of 
the  party  breaking  in  on  our  conversa 
tion.  What  was  equal  happiness  to  me 
was  the  association  of  you  in  my  mind 
with  the  noblest  of  music.  I  can  never 
hear  certain  movements  of  those  operas 
without  your  image  coming  before  me 
as  clearly  as  if  I  saw  your  reflection  in  a 
mirror.  And  from  that  time  one  of  my 
keenest  pleasures  has  been  to  beg  tick 
ets  from  the  musical  critic  of  our  staff, 
whenever  one  of  the  trilogy  is  to  be 
given,  and  sit  through  the  opera  dream- 
171 


THE    STORY   OF 

ing  of  those  hours.  I  could  write  here 
every  word  you  uttered,  but  what  espe 
cially  impressed  itself  upon  my  memory 
was  something  called  out  by  the  fate  of 
Brunhilde.  As  we  stood  in  the  lobby 
waiting  for  the  carriages,  at  the  end  of 
Die  Walkiire,  you  withdrew  a  little,  as 
if  still  feeling  the  beauty  and  tragedy  of 
the  last  act  too  deeply  to  take  part  in  the 
chit-chat  with  which  the  rest  of  the  party 
beguiled  the  time.  I  stood  near  you, 
but,  respecting  your  mood,  was  silent 
too,  until  you  finally  broke  the  pause  by 
saying,  "I  do  not  know  whether  it  is 
Wagner's  music  or  because  Brunhilde 
appeals  to  me,  but  I  always  feel  that  I 
have  suffered  as  she  does.  It  almost 
makes  me  believe  in  the  theory  of  me 
tempsychosis." 

"  Is  it  so  much  consciousness  of  a  past, 
Miss  Walton,"  I  suggested,  "  as  pre 
science  of  the  future  ?  Woman's  story 
is  so  unvaryingly  that  of  self-sacrifice  for 
love  that  I  should  suppose  Brunhilde's 
172 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

fate  would  appeal  to  the  sex  as  a  pro 
phecy  rather  than  as  a  memory." 

"Her  punishment  could  have  been  far 
worse." 

"Left  a  defenseless  prey  to  the  first 
comer  ? " 

"But  surrounded  by  fire,  so  that  the 
first  comer  must  be  a  brave  man." 

"  Do  you  value  courage  so  highly  ? " 

"Yes.  The  truly  brave,  I  think,  can 
not  be  mean,  and  without  meanness  there 
must  be  honor.  I  almost  envy  Brunhilde 
her  walls  of  fire,  which  put  to  absolute 
proof  any  man  who  sought  her.  The 
most  successful  of  men ;  the  most  intel 
lectually  brilliant,  may  be —  By  what 
can  we  to-day  test  courage  and  honor  ?  " 

"  There  is  as  much  as  ever,  Miss  Wal 
ton.  Is  it  no  gain  that  courage  has  be 
come  moral  rather  than  physical  ? " 

"Is  it  no  loss  that  of  all  the  men  I 
know,  there  is  not  one  of  whom  I  can  say 
with  certainty,  '  He  is  a  brave  man '  ? " 

Our  numbers  were  called  at  this  point, 
173 


THE    STORY    OF 

and  the  conversation  was  never  contin 
ued.  Every  word  you  had  said  recalled 
to  me  my  former  friend,  and  I  understood 
your  repugnance  for  anything  cowardly. 

At  the  last  of  these  operas,  by  another 
perverse  joke  of  Dame  Fortune,  who 
seems  to  have  so  many  laughs  at  my  ex 
pense,  I  was  introduced  to  the  chaperon, 
"Mrs.  Polhemus."  Looking  up,  I  found 
myself  facing  my  mother.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  strangely  I  felt  in  making  my 
bow.  She  was  as  handsome  as  ever,  it 
appeared  to  me,  and  the  smooth  rich 
olive  complexion  seemed  to  have  given 
her  an  undying  youth.  For  a  moment  I 
feared  recognition,  but  the  difference  was 
too  great  between  the  pallid  stooping 
boy  of  fifteen  she  had  last  seen  in  Paris 
and  the  straight  bronzed  man  of  twenty- 
seven.  As  of  old  she  was  magnificently 
dressed  and  fairly  glittered  with  dia 
monds,  which  curiously  enough  instantly 
brought  to  my  mind  the  face  of  my 
father  as  I  kissed  him  last.  Was  it  the 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

strong  connection  of  contrast,  or  was  it  a 
quirk  of  my  brain  ? 

This  chance  meeting  had  a  sequel  that 
pains  me  to  this  day.  Dining  the  next 
evening  at  the  Blodgetts'  with  you  and 
your  uncle,  the  latter  spoke  of  my  mo 
ther's  diamonds.  Mrs.  Blodgett  said, 
with  a  laugh,  "One  would  think,  after 
her  rich  marriage,  that  she  might  pay  up 
the  money  her  first  husband  stole  from 
Maizie." 

"  She  could  have  done  that  years  ago 
if  she  had  cared  to,"  sneered  Mr.  Walton. 

Your  eyes  were  lowered,  and  you  still 
kept  them  so  as  you  replied,  "  I  would 
not  accept  the  money  from  Mrs.  Polhe- 
mus." 

In  my  suffering  I  sat  rigid  and  speech 
less,  wincing  inwardly  at  each  blow  of 
the  lash,  when  Mr.  Blodgett,  with  a  kind 
ness  I  can  never  reward  or  even  acknow 
ledge,  observed,  "I  believe  it  was  his 
wife's  extravagance  which  made  William 
Maitland  a  bankrupt  and  an  embezzler. 


THE    STORY   OF 

Till  his  marriage  with  her  he  was  a  man 
of  simple  habits  and  of  unquestioned 
business  honesty,  but  he  was  caught  by 
her  looks,  just  as  Polhemus  has  been. 
In  those  first  years  he  could  deny  her 
nothing,  and  when  the  disillusionment 
came  he  was  too  deep  in  to  prevent  the 
wreck." 

"  You  've  been  revising  your  views  a 
bit,"  retorted  Mr.  Walton.  "  I  never  ex 
pected  to  hear  you  justify  any  of  that 
family." 

"Perhaps  I  have  reason  to,"  replied 
Mr.  Blodgett. 

"I  don't  believe  any  of  those  Mait- 
lands  have  the  least  honesty !  "  exclaimed 
Agnes.  "How  I  hate  them  !  " 

"  It  is  not  a  subject  of  which  I  like 
to  speak,"  you  stated  in  an  evidently 
controlled  voice,  still  with  lowered  eyes, 
"  but  it  is  only  right  to  say  that  some  one 
—  I  suppose  the  son  —  is  beginning  to 
pay  back  the  debt." 

"Pay  back  the  money,  Maizie  !  "  ejacu- 
176 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

lated  Mr.  Walton.     "Why  haven't  you 
told  me  of  it  ?  " 

"It  did  not  seem  necessary,"  you  an 
swered. 

"I  'm  sure  it 's  a  trick,"  asserted  Ag 
nes.  "  He  's  probably  trying  to  worm  his 
way  back  to  your  friendship,  to  get  some 
thing  more  out  of  you." 

"  How  much  "  —  began  Mr.  Walton  ; 
but  you  interrupted  him  there  by  saying, 
"  I  would  rather  not  talk  about  it." 

The  subject  was  changed  at  once,  but 
when  we  were  smoking,  Mr.  Walton 
asked,  "  Blodgett,  do  you  know  anything 
about  that  Maitland  affair  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  replied  the  host. 

"  The  debt  really  is  being  paid  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  don't  know  by  whom  ? " 

"  So  Maizie  tells  me." 

"  Has  she  made  no  attempt  to  find 
out  ? " 

"When  the  first  payment  was  made 
she  came  to  me  for  advice." 
177 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  Well  ? "  asked  Mr.  Walton  eagerly. 

"  She  got  it,"  declared  Mr.  Blodgett. 

"  What  did  she  do  ? "  persisted  Mr. 
Walton. 

Mr.  Blodgett  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
and  then  responded,  "The  exact  oppo 
site  of  what  I  advised.  Do  you  know, 
Walton,  you  and  I  remind  me  of  the 
warm  -  hearted  elephant  who  tried  to 
hatch  the  ostrich  eggs  by  sitting  on 
them." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"We  decided  that  we  must  break  up 
Maizie's  love  of  the  Maitlands  for  her 
own  good." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  we  made  the  whole  thing  so 
mean  to  her  that  finally  we  did  break 
something.  Then,  manlike,  we  were  sat 
isfied.  What  was  it  we  broke  ? " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  growled  Mr.  Walton, 
sipping  his  wine. 

Mr.  Blodgett  laughed  slightly.  "  That 's 
rather  a  good  name  for  it,"  he  assented  ; 
178 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"but  the  trouble  is,  Walton,  that  non 
sense  is  a  very  big  part  of  every  woman's 
life.  You  '11  never  get  me  to  fool  with  it 
again." 

I  often  ponder  over  those  three  brief 
remarks  of  yours,  and  of  what  you  said 
to  me  last  autumn,  in  our  ride  and  in  the 
upper  hall  of  My  Fancy,  trying  to  learn, 
if  possible,  what  your  feeling  is  towards 
us.  Can  you,  despite  all  that  has  inter 
vened,  still  feel  any  tenderness  and  love 
for  my  father  and  me  ?  Perhaps  it  was 
best  that  you  were  silent ;  if  you  had 
spoken  of  him  with  contempt,  I  think  — 
I  know  you  would  not,  my  darling,  for 
you  loved  him  once,  and  that,  to  you, 
would  be  reason  enough  to  be  merciful 
to  the  dead,  however  sinning. 

Dear  love,  good-night. 
179 


THE   STORY   OF 


XV 

March  6.  You  once  said  to  me  that 
you  could  conceive  of  no  circumstances 
that  would  justify  dishonesty ;  for,  no 
matter  what  the  seeming  benefits  might 
be,  the  indirect  consequences  and  the 
effect  on  the  misdoer's  character  more 
than  neutralized  them.  The  wrong  I 
have  done  has  only  proved  your  view, 
and  I  have  come  to  scorn  myself  for  the 
dishonorable  part  I  have  played.  Yet 
I  think  that  you  would  pity  more  than 
blame  me,  if  you  could  but  know  my 
sacrifices.  I  drifted  into  the  fraud  un 
consciously,  and  cannot  now  decide  at 
what  point  the  actual  stifling  of  my  con 
science  began.  I  suppose  the  first  mis 
step  was  when  I  entered  Mr.  Whitely's 
employment ;  yet  though  I  knew  it  to  be 
unscrupulous  in  him  to  impose  my  edito- 
180 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

rials  as  his  own,  it  still  seemed  to  me  no 
distinct  transgression  in  me  to  write  them 
for  him.  With  that  first  act  those  that 
followed  became  possible,  and  each  in 
volved  so  slight  an  increase  in  the  moral 
lapse,  and  my  debt  to  you  was  so  potent 
an  excuse  to  blind  me,  that  at  the  time 
I  truly  thought  I  was  doing  right.  I 
wonder  what  you  would  have  done  had 
you  been  in  my  position  ? 

Mr.  Blodgett's  shrewdness  in  stipulat 
ing  what  work  I  was  to  do  for  Mr. 
Whitely  quickly  proved  itself.  One  of 
the  magazines  asked  my  employer  to 
contribute  an  article  on  The  Future  of 
Journalism.  Handing  me  the  letter,  he 
said,  "Dr.  Hartzmann,  kindly  write  a 
couple  of  thousand  words  on  that  sub 
ject." 

"  That  surely  is  not  part  of  my  duty, 
Mr.  Whitely,"  I  had  the  courage  to  re 
spond. 

He  looked  at  me  quickly,  and  his 
mouth  stiffened  into  a  straight  line. 
181 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  do  not  choose 
to  do  it  ?  "  he  asked  suavely. 

My  heart  failed  me  at  the  thought 
that  if  I  lost  my  position  I  might  never 
get  so  good  a  one,  and  should  drag  my 
debt  through  life.  For  once  thought  of 
you  made  me  cowardly.  I  answered,  "  I 
will  write  it,  Mr.  Whitely ; "  and  he  said, 
"  I  thank  you,"  as  if  I  had  done  him  a 
favor. 

I  told  Mr.  Blodgett  of  the  incident, 
that  evening,  with  a  wry  face  and  a  laugh 
over  my  bravery,  and  he  was  furious  at 
me. 

"Why,  you  —  you" —  he  stuttered. 
"  Have  n't  you  learned  yet  that  the  man 
would  n't  part  with  you  for  anything  ? 
He  's  so  stuck  up  over  his  editorials 
and  what  people  say  of  them  that  he  'd 
as  soon  think  of  discharging  his  own 
mother  before  she  weaned  him." 

Not  content  with  venting  his  anger  on 
me,  he  came  into  the  office  the  next  day 
told  Mr.  Whitely  I  should  not  be  im- 
182 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

posed  on,  and  finally  forced  him  to  agree 
that  I  should  receive  whatever  the  review 
paid  for  the  article. 

After  this  I  wrote  several  magazine 
articles  for  Mr.  Whitely,  and  soon  another 
development  of  our  curious  relations  oc 
curred.  One  afternoon  he  informed  me, 
"The  Library  trustees  request  me  to 
deliver  an  address  at  the  dedication^  of 
the  building.  I  shall  be  grateful  for  any 
suggestions  you  can  make  of  a  proper 
subject." 

"Books?"  I  replied,  with  an  absolutely 
grave  face. 

"That  is  eminently  suitable,"  he  re 
sponded.  "  Possibly  you  can  spare  the 
time  to  compose  such  a  paper ;  and  as  it 
should  be  of  a  scholarly  character  some 
Greek  and  Latin  seem  to  me  advisable." 

"  How  much  ? "  I  asked,  inwardly 
amused  to  note  if  he  would  understand 
my  question,  or  would  suppose  it  referred 
to  the  quantity  of  dead  languages  I  was 
to  inject. 

183 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  What  is  the  labor  worth  ?  "  he  in 
quired,  setting  my  doubt  at  rest,  and 
proving  his  business  ability  to  recognize 
the  most  distant  allusion  to  a  dollar. 
When  I  named  a  price,  he  continued : 
"That  is  excessive.  The  profession  of 
authorship  is  so  little  recompensed  that 
there  are  many  good  writers  in  New 
York  who  would  gladly  do  it  for  less." 

"  I  can  do  it  cheaper,  if,  like  them,  I 
crib  it  from  books  at  the  Astor,"  I  as 
serted. 

"I  do  not  see  why  an  address  com 
posed  in  the  Astor  Library  should  not  be 
entirely  satisfactory?"  he  questioned,  in 
his  smooth,  self-controlled  manner. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  man  who 
left  the  theatre  in  the  middle  of  Hamlet 
because,  he  said,  he  did  n't  care  to  hear  a 
play  that  was  all  quotations  ? "  I  asked, 
with  a  touch  of  irony. 

"I  presume  the  story  has  some  con 
nection  in  your  mind  with  the  subject  in 
hand,  but  I  am  unable  to  see  the  appo- 
184 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

siteness  ? "  he  said  interrogatively  and 
evidently  puzzled. 

"  I  merely  mentioned  it  lest  you  might 
not  know  that  Pope  never  lived  in  Grub 
Street." 

He  looked  at  me,  still  ignorant  that  I 
was  laughing  at  him.  "  You  think  it  in 
judicious  to  have  it  done  by  Mather?" 
he  questioned,  naming  a  fellow  who  did 
special  work  for  the  paper  at  times. 

"Not  at  all,"  I  replied,  "provided  you 
label  the  address  '  hash,'  so  that  people 
who  have  some  discrimination  won't  sup 
pose  you  ignorant  that  it  is  twice-cooked 
meat  you  are  giving  them,"  and,  turning, 
I  went  on  with  my  work  as  if  the  matter 
were  ended. 

But  the  next  day  he  told  me,  "  I  have 
concluded  to  have  you  compose  that  ora 
tion,  Dr.  Hartzmann ; "  and  from  that 
moment  of  petty  victory  I  have  not  feared 
my  employer. 

I  wrote  the  address,  and  it  so  pleased 
Mr.  Whitely  that,  not  content  with  de- 
185 


THE   STORY    OF 

livering  it,  he  had  it  handsomely  printed, 
and  sent  copies  to  all  his  friends. 

The  resulting  praise  he  received  clearly 
whetted  his  appetite  for  authorship,  for 
not  long  after  he  said  to  me,  "  Dr.  Hartz- 
mann,  you  told  me,  when  you  sold  me 
this  library,  that  you  were  writing  a  his 
tory  of  the  Turks.  How  nearly  com 
pleted  is  it  ? " 

"  I  hope  to  have  it  ready  for  press 
within  three  months." 

"  For  some  time,"  he  remarked,  "  I 
have  meditated  the  writing  of  a  book,  and 
possibly  yours  will  serve  my  purpose." 

I  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  for  a 
moment  I  merely  gazed  at  him,  since  it 
seemed  impossible  that  even  egotism  so 
overwhelming  as  his  could  be  capable  of 
such  blindness  ;  but  he  was  in  earnest, 
and  I  could  only  revert  to  Mr.  Blodgett's 
idea  that  a  business  man  comes  to  think 
in  time  that  anything  he  can  buy  is  his. 
I  smiled,  and  answered,  "  My  book  is  not 
petroleum,  Mr.  Whitely." 
186 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"If  it  is  what  I  desire,  I  will  amply 
remunerate  you,"  he  offered. 

"  It  is  not  for  sale." 

"I  presume,"  he  replied,  "that  you 
know  what  disposition  of  your  book  suits 
you  best.  I  have,  however,  noticed  in 
you  a  strong  desire  to  obtain  money,  and 
I  feel  sure  that  we  could  arrange  terms 
that  will  bring  you  more  than  you  would 
otherwise  receive." 

Even  before  Mr.  Whitely  finished 
speaking,  I  realized  that  I  was  not  a  free 
agent.  I  owed  a  debt,  and  till  it  was 
paid  I  had  no  right  to  think  of  my  own 
ambition  or  feelings.  I  caught  my  breath 
in  anguish  at  the  thought,  and  then,  fear 
ing  that  my  courage  would  fail  me,  I 
spoke  hastily :  "  What  do  you  offer  me  ? " 

He  smiled  blandly  as  he  predicted :  "  It 
is  hardly  a  work  that  will  have  a  large 
sale.  The  Turkish  nation  has  not  played 
an  important  part  in  history." 

"  Only  conquered  the  key  of  the  Old 
World,  caused  the  Crusades,  forced  the 
187 


THE    STORY    OF 

discovery  of  America  and  of  the  Cape 
passage,  compelled  Europe  to  develop  its 
own  civilization  instead  of  adopting  that 
of  the  East,  and  furnished  a  question  to 
modern  statesmen  that  they  have  yet 
found  no  QEdipus  to  answer,"  I  retorted. 

"Your  special  pleading  does  tend  to 
magnify  their  position,"  he  assented.  "  I 
shall  be  happy  to  look  the  work  over, 
leaving  the  terms  to  be  decided  later." 

I  am  ashamed  to  confess  what  a  night 
of  suffering  I  went  through,  battling  with 
the  love  and  pride  that  had  grown  into 
my  heart  for  my  book.  I  knew  from  the 
first  moment  his  proposition  had  been 
suggested  that  he  would  give  me  more 
than  I  could  ever  hope  to  make  from  the 
work,  and  therefore  my  course  was  only 
too  plain  ;  but  I  had  a  terrible  struggle 
to  force  myself  to  carry  my  manuscript 
to  him  the  following  afternoon. 

For  the  next  week  he  was  full  of 
what  he  was  reading;  and  had  the  cir 
cumstances  been  different,  I  could  have 
188 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

asked  no  higher  compliment  as  regards 
its  popular  interest  than  the  enthusiasm 
of  this  unlettered  business  man  for  my 
book. 

"  It  is  quite  as  diverting  as  a  romance !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "I  can  already  see  how 
astonished  people  will  be  when  they  read 
of  the  far-reaching  influence  of  that  na 
tion." 

Since  the  pound  of  flesh  was  to  be 
sold,  I  took  advantage  of  this  mood. 
After  much  haggling,  which  irritated 
and  pained  me  more  than  it  should,  Mr. 
Whitely  agreed  to  give  me  six  thousand 
dollars  and  the  royalties.  Good  as  the 
terms  were,  my  heart  nearly  broke,  the 
day  the  manuscript  left  my  hands,  for  I 
had  put  so  much  thought  into  the  book 
that  it  had  almost  become  part  of  my 
self.  My  father,  too,  had  toiled  over  it, 
with  fondest  predictions  of  the  fame  it 
would  bring  me ;  spending,  as  it  proved, 
his  very  life  in  the  endeavor  to  make  it 
a  great  work.  That  his  love,  that  the 
189 


THE    STORY    OF 

love  of  my  dear  professors,  and  that  my 
own  hopes  should  all  be  brought  to  mar 
ket  and  sold  as  if  they  were  mere  mer 
chandise  was  so  mercenary  and  cruel 
that  at  the  last  moment  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  bring  myself  to  fulfill  the  bargain. 
Nothing  but  my  small  progress  in  paying 
my  debt  would  have  forced  me  to  sell, 
and  I  hope  nothing  but  that  would  have 
led  me  to  join  in  such  dishonesty.  It 
was,  after  all,  part  of  the  price  I  was 
paying  for  the  original  wrong,  and  but 
just  retribution  against  which  I  had  no 
right  to  cry  out.  Yet  for  a  month  I  was 
so  sad  that  I  could  scarcely  go  through 
my  day's  toil ;  and  though  that  was  a 
year  ago,  I  have  never  been  able  to  work 
with  the  same  vim,  life  seems  to  have  so 
little  left  in  it  for  me.  And  idle  as  the 
thought  is,  when  I  think  of  your  praise 
of  the  book  I  cannot  help  dreaming  of 
what  might  have  been  if  it  had  been 
published  in  my  name ;  if  —  Ah,  well, 
to  talk  of  "ifs  "  is  only  to  confess  that  I 
190 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

am  beaten,  and  that  I  will  not  do.  Nor 
is  the  fight  over.  I  never  hoped  nor  at 
tempted  to  gain  your  love,  and  that  he 
has  won  you  does  not  mean  failure.  To 
pay  my  debt  is  all  I  have  to  do,  and 
though  I  may  feel  more  ill  and  disheart 
ened  than  I  do  to-night,  I  will  pay  it, 
come  what  may. 

Good-night,  my  darling. 
191 


THE   STORY    OF 


XVI 

March  7.  It  is  little  to  be  proud  of, 
yet  I  like  to  think  that  though  I  have 
behaved  dishonestly,  I  have  not  entirely 
lost  my  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  Twice 
at  least  have  I  faced  temptation  and  been 
strong  enough  to  resist. 

When  I  carried  to  Mr.  Blodgett  the 
money  I  received  for  my  book,  I  was  so 
profoundly  discouraged  that  my  mood 
was  only  too  apparent.  In  his  kindness 
he  suggested  that  I  buy  certain  bonds  of 
a  railroad  his  firm  was  then  reorganizing, 
—  telling  me  from  his  inside  knowledge 
that  a  year's  holding  would  give  me  a 
profit  of  thirty  per  cent.  It  was  so  sore 
a  temptation  to  make  money  without 
exertion  and  practically  without  risk  that 
I  assented,  and  authorized  him  to  buy 
the  securities ;  but  a  night's  reflection 
192 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

made  the  dishonesty  of  my  act  clear  to 
me,  and  the  next  morning  I  went  to  his 
office  and  told  him  I  wished  to  counter 
mand  my  order. 

"What 's  that  for  ? "  he  inquired. 

"  I  have  thought  better  of  the  matter, 
and  do  not  think  I  have  the  right." 

"Why  not?" 

"  If  this  money  were  a  trust  in  my 
hands,  it  would  not  be  honest  to  use  it  in 
speculation,  would  it  ? " 

"No." 

"That  is  practically  what  it  is,  since 
it  was  stolen  from  a  trust,  and  is  to  be 
returned  to  it." 

He  smiled  rather  grimly.  "  It 's  lucky 
for  Wall  Street,"  he  said,  "that  you  liter 
ary  fellows  don't  have  the  making  and 
enforcing  of  laws ;  and  it 's  luckier  still 
that  you  don't  have  to  earn  your  living 
down  here,  for  the  money  you  'd  make 
wouldn't  pay  your  burial  insurance." 
Yet  though  he  laughed  cynically,  he 
shook  my  hand,  I  thought,  more  warmly 


THE    STORY   OF 

than  usual  when  we  parted,  as  if  he  felt 
at  heart  that  I  had  done  right. 

Much  easier  to  resist  was  an  offer  of 
another  kind.  Very  foolishly,  I  told  Mr. 
Whitely  that  I  had  received  a  letter  from 
the  literary  editor  of  the  leading  Ameri 
can  review  asking  if  I  would  write  the 
criticism  of  the  History  of  the  Turks. 

"  That  is  a  singular  piece  of  good  for 
tune,"  Mr.  Whitely  said  cheerfully,  "  and 
guarantees  me  a  complimentary  notice  in 
a  periodical  that  rarely  praises." 

"  That  is  by  no  means  certain,"  I  an 
swered.  "  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  it 
does  not  gloze  a  poor  book,  nor  pass  over 
defects  in  silence." 

"  But  you  can  hardly  write  critically  of 
your  own  book  !  "  cried  Mr.  Whitely,  for 
once  giving  me  a  share  in  our  literary 
partnership.  "  For  if  there  are  defects 
you  ought  to  have  corrected  them  in 
proof." 

"Of  course  I  do  not  intend  to  write 
the  review !  "  I  exclaimed. 
194 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  Not  write  it  ?  Why  not  ? "  he  ques 
tioned  in  amazement  equal  to  mine. 

"  Because  I  am  absolutely  unfitted  to 
do  it." 

"Why,  you  know  all  about  the  sub 
ject  ! " 

"  I  mean  that  no  author  can  for  a  mo 
ment  write  discriminatingly  of  his  own 
work  ;  and  besides,  the  offer  would  never 
have  been  made  if  my  connection  with 
the  book  were  known." 

"  But  they  will  never  know." 

"I  should." 

"  You  mean  to  say  you  do  not  intend 
to  do  it?" 

"I  shall  write  to-night  declining." 

"But  I  want  you  to  do  it." 

"And  I  don't." 

"What  would  they  probably  pay  you 
for  it  ?  " 

"What  it  is  worth." 

"If  you  will  reconsider  your  determi 
nation,  I  will  double  the  amount." 

"  Unfortunately,"   I   laughed  bitterly, 


THE    STORY    OF 

"there  are  limits  to  what  even  /  will 
sell." 

"  I  will  give  you  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  if  you  will  write  a  laudatory  re 
view  of  my  book,"  he  offered. 

"  Have  you  ever  dealt  in  consciences, 
Mr.  Whitely  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Occasionally." 

"Did  you  ever  get  any  as  cheap  as 
that?" 

"  Many." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  were  buying  shop 
worn  and  second-hand  articles,"  I  re 
torted  ;  "  or  you  may  have  gone  to  some 
bargain  counter  where  they  make  a  spe 
cialty  of  ninety-eight  and  forty-nine  cent 
goods." 

He  never  liked  this  satirical  mood  into 
which  he  sometimes  drove  me.  He  hesi 
tated  an  instant,  and  then  bid,  "  Three 
hundred." 

"This   reminds  me   of  Faust,"   I   re 
marked  ;  but  he  was  too  intent  on  the 
matter  in  hand  to  see  the  point. 
196 


AN   UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  suppose  it 's  only  a  question  ot 
amount  ? "  he  suggested  blandly. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Whitely.  I 
will  write  you  that  review  if  you  will  pay 
me  my  price,"  I  assented. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  asserted  exultingly. 
"But  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think  I 
will  pay  any  fancy  price." 

"  Then  it 's  a  waste  of  time  to  talk  any 
more  about  it,"  I  answered,  and  resumed 
my  work. 

"  It  is  n't  worth  three  hundred,  even," 
he  argued,  "but  you  may  tell  me  what 
you  will  do  it  for." 

"  I  will  write  that  review  for  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty-one  thousand  dollars,"  I 
replied. 

"What!" 

"  And  from  that  price  I  will  not  abate 
one  cent,"  I  added. 

Strangely  enough,  I  did  not  write  the 
notice. 

It  was  amusing  to  see  his  eagerness 
for  the  criticisms  of  the  book.  The 
197 


THE    STORY    OF 

three  American  critical  journals  had  no 
tices  eminently  characteristic  of  them. 
The  first  was  scholarly,  praising  moder 
ately,  with  a  touch  of  lemon-juice  in  the 
final  paragraph  that  really  only  height 
ened  its  earlier  commendation,  but  which 
made  the  book's  putative  author  wince ; 
the  second  was  discriminating  and  bal 
anced,  with  far  more  that  was  com 
plimentary  ;  while  the  third  was  the 
publisher's  puff  so  regularly  served  up, 
—  a  colorless,  sugary  mush,  —  which  my 
employer  swallowed  with  much  delecta 
tion.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  greatly 
enjoyed  his  pain  over  any  harsh  words. 
He  always  took  for  granted  that  the 
criticisms  were  correct,  never  realizing 
that  as  between  an  author,  who  has  spent 
years  on  a  book,  and  the  average  critic, 
who  is  at  best  superficial  in  his  know 
ledge  of  a  subject,  the  former  is  the  more 
often  right  of  the  two.  I  tried  to  make 
this  clear  to  him  one  day  by  asking  him 
if  he  had  never  read  Lord  Brougham's 
198 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

review  of  Byron  or  Baron  Jeffrey's  re 
view  of  Coleridge,  and  even  brought  him 
the  astonishing  tirades  of  those  world- 
renowned  critics  ;  but  it  was  time  wasted. 
He  preferred  a  flattering  panegyric  in 
the  most  obscure  of  little  sheets  to  a 
really  careful  notice  which  praised  less 
inordinately  ;  yet  while  apparently  believ 
ing  all  the  flattery,  he  believed  all  the 
censoriousness  as  well,  even  in  those 
cases  known  to  every  author  where  one 
critic  praises  what  another  blames. 

"A  Western  paper  says  you  do  not 
know  how  to  write  English,"  he  com 
plained  one  day.  "You  ought  to  have 
taken  more  pains  with  the  book,  Dr. 
Hartzmann." 

"The  Academy  and  The  Athenaeum 
both  thought  my  style  had  merit,"  I  an 
swered,  smiling. 

"Nevertheless  there  must  be  some 
thing  wrong,  or  this  critic,  who  in  other 
respects  praises  with  remarkable  discrim 
ination,  would  certainly  not  have  gone 
199 


THE    STORY    OF 

out  of  his  way  to  mention  it,"  he  replied 
discontentedly. 

Fortunately,  unfavorable  criticism,  both 
in  Europe  and  in  America,  was  the  ex 
ception,  and  not  the  rule ;  the  book  was 
generally  praised,  and  sprang  into  an  in 
stant  sale  that  encouraged  and  cheered 
me.  Mr.  Whitely  was  immensely  grati 
fied  at  the  sudden  reputation  it  achieved 
for  him,  and  even  while  drinking  deep  of 
the  mead  of  fresh  authorship  told  me  he 
thought  he  would  publish  another  book. 
I  knew  it  was  an  opportunity  to  make 
more  money,  but  for  some  reason  I  felt 
unequal  to  beginning  anew  on  what  would 
be  a  purely  mercenary  task.  I  mentioned 
my  plan  of  a  work  on  the  Moors,  and 
promised,  when  I  felt  able  to  commence 
it,  I  would  talk  with  him  about  terms. 
That  was  three  months  ago,  yet  every 
day  I  seem  to  feel  less  inclination,  and  in 
fact  less  ability,  to  undertake  the  labor. 
For  three  years  I  have  toiled  to  the  ut 
most  of  my  strength,  and  forced  myself 

200 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

to  endure  the  most  rigid  economy.  It 
is  cowardly,  but  at  times  I  find  myself 
hoping  my  present  want  of  spirit  and 
energy  is  the  forerunner  of  an  illness 
which  will  end  the  hopeless  struggle. 
Good-night,  dear  heart. 

301 


THE   STORY   OF 


XVII 

March  8.  Each  day  I  determine  to 
spend  my  evening  usefully,  but  try  as  I 
may,  when  the  time  comes  I  feel  too 
weary  to  do  good  work,  and  so  morbidly 
recur  to  these  memories.  I  ought  to 
fight  the  tendency,  the  more  that  in  re 
verting  to  the  past  I  seem  only  to  dwell 
on  its  sadness,  thus  intensifying  my  own 
depression.  Let  me  see  if  I  cannot  for 
one  night  write  of  the  good  fortune  that 
has  come  to  me  in  the  last  three  years. 

Pleased  with  the  success  of  my  book 
of  travel  and  textbooks,  and  knowing  of 
my  wish  for  work,  the  American  publish 
ers  offered  me  the  position  of  assistant 
editor  of  their  magazine  and  reader  of 
manuscripts.  By  hard  work  and  late 
hours  the  task  could  be  done  in  my 
mornings  and  evenings,  allowing  me  to 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

continue  in  Mr.  Whitely's  employ ;  so  I 
eagerly  accepted  the  position.  I  can  im 
agine  few  worse  fates  than  reading  the 
hopeless  and  impossible  trash  that  comes 
to  every  publisher ;  but  this  was  not  my 
lot,  for  I  was  to  read  only  the  manu 
scripts  that  had  been  winnowed  of  the 
chaff.  Yet  this  very  immunity,  as  it 
proved,  nearly  lost  me  an  opportunity  of 
trying  to  be  of  service  to  you. 

Returning  a  bundle  of  stuff  to  the 
manuscript  clerk  one  day,  I  saw  "M. 
Walton,  287  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  City,"  in  your  handwriting,  on  the 
cover  of  a  bulky  pile  of  sheets  on  his 
desk.  Startled,  I  demanded,  "What  is 
this?" 

"  It 's  a  rejected  manuscript  I  was  on 
the  point  of  wrapping  to  return,"  the 
clerk  answered. 

Opening  the  cover,   I  saw,    "A  Wo 
man's  Problem,  a  Novel,  by  Aimez  Law- 
ton."     It  needed  little  perception  to  de* 
tect  your  name  in  the  anagram. 
203 


THE    STORY    OF 

"Mrs.  Graham  has  rejected  it?"  I 
asked,  and  he  nodded. 

"  Give  me  the  file  about  it,  please,"  I 
requested ;  and  after  a  moment's  search 
he  handed  me  the  envelope,  and  I 
glanced  over  its  meagre  contents :  a  brief 
formal  note  from  you,  submitting  it,  and 
the  short  opinion  of  the  woman  reader. 
"  Traces  of  amateurishness,  but  a  work  of 
considerable  power  and  feeling,  marred 
by  an  inconclusive  ending,"  was  the  epi 
tome  of  her  opinion,  coupled  with  the 
recommendation  not  to  accept. 

"  Register  it  on  my  list,  and  I  '11  take 
it  and  look  it  over,"  I  said,  and  went  to 
my  little  editorial  cuddy,  feeling  actually 
rich  in  the  possession  of  the  manuscript 
Indeed,  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  go  through 
my  morning  quota  of  proof-reading  and 
"  making  up  "  dummy  forms  for  the  mag 
azine's  next  issue,  I  was  so  eager  for 
your  book. 

A  single  reading  told  me  you  had  put 
the  problem  of  your  life  into  the  story. 
204 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

It  is  true  the  heroine  was  different  enough 
in  many  respects  to  make  analogy  hardly 
perceptible,  though  she  too  was  a  tender, 
noble  woman.  She  had  never  felt  the 
slightest  responsive  warmth  for  any  of 
her  lovers,  but  she  was  cramped  by  the 
social  conventions  regarding  unmarried 
women,  and  questioned  whether  her  life 
would  not  be  more  potent  if  she  married, 
even  without  love.  One  of  her  lovers 
was  a  man  of  force,  brains,  wealth,  and 
ambition,  outwardly  an  admirable  match, 
respected  by  the  world,  and,  most  of  all, 
able  to  draw  about  him  the  men  of  gen 
ius  and  intellect  she  wished  to  know,  but 
whom  her  society  lot  debarred  her  from 
meeting.  Yet  your  heroine  was  con 
scious  of  faults  :  she  felt  in  him  a  touch 
of  the  soil  that  repels  every  woman  in 
stinctively;  at  times  his  nature  seemed 
hard  and  unsympathetic,  and  his  scien 
tific  work,  for  which  he  was  famous,  had 
narrowed  his  strong  mind  to  think  only 
of  facts  and  practicalities,  to  the  exclu- 
205 


THE    STORY    OF 

sion  of  everything  ideal  or  beautiful.  In 
the  end,  however,  his  persistent  wooing 
convinced  her  of  the  strength  of  his  feel 
ing  ;  and  though  she  was  conscious  that 
she  could  never  love  him  as  she  wished 
to  love,  the  tale  ended  by  her  marrying 
him.  Am  I  to  blame  for  reading  in  this 
the  story  of  Mr.  Whitely's  courtship  of 
you  ?  I  only  marveled  at  how  much  of 
his  true  character  you  had  detected  un 
der  his  veneer. 

To  me  the  story  was  sweet  and  noble. 
I  loved  your  heroine  from  beginning  to 
end.  She  was  so  strong  even  in  her 
weaknesses  ;  for  you  made  her  no  unsub 
stantial  ideal.  I  understood  her  craving 
something  more  than  her  allotted  round 
of  social  amusements,  and  her  desire  for 
intercourse  and  friendship  with  finer  and 
more  purposeful  people  than  she  daily 
met.  I  even  understood  her  willingness 
to  accept  love,  when  not  herself  feeling 
it ;  for  my  own  life  was  so  hungry-hearted 
that  I  had  come  to  yearn  for  the  slight- 
206 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

est  tenderness,  no  matter  who  the  giver 
might  be. 

As  soon  as  I  realized  that  the  story 
was  your  own,  I  hoped  it  might  tell  me 
something  of  your  thoughts  of  my  father 
and  myself ;  but  that  part  of  your  life 
you  passed  over  as  if  it  never  had  been. 
Was  the  omission  due  to  too  much  feel 
ing  or  too  little  ?  I  have  always  sus 
pected  that  I  served  as  a  model  for  one 
of  your  minor  characters  :  a  dreamy,  un 
social  being,  curiously  variable  in  mood ; 
at  times  talking  learnedly  and  even  wit 
tily,  but  more  often  absolutely  silent. 
He  was  by  profession  an  artist,  and  you 
made  him  content  to  use  his  talent  on 
book  and  magazine  illustration,  appar 
ently  without  a  higher  purpose  in  life 
than  to  earn  enough  to  support  himself, 
in  order  that  he  might  pass  the  remainder 
of  his  time  in  an  intellectual  indulgence 
scarcely  higher  in  motive  than  more  ma 
terial  dissipation.  His  evident  sadness 
and  lack  of  ambition  was  finally  discov- 
207 


THE   STORY    OF 

ered  to  be  due  to  a  disappointment  in 
love ;  and  as  a  cure,  your  heroine  intro 
duced  him  to  her  best  friend,  —  a  young 
girl,  —  and  through  her  influence  he  was 
roused  to  some  ambition,  and  in  the  end 
he  dutifully  fell  in  love  as  your  heroine 
wished.  It  was  a  sketch  that  made  me 
wince,  and  yet  at  which  I  could  not  help 
but  laugh.  I  suppose  it  was  a  true  pic 
ture,  and  I  am  quite  conscious  that  at 
times  I  must  seem  ridiculous  to  you ;  for 
often  my  mood  is  such,  or  my  interest 
in  you  is  so  strong,  that  I  forget  even 
the  ordinary  courtesies  and  conventions. 
There  is  a  general  idea  that  a  lover  is 
always  at  his  best  when  with  the  woman 
he  loves,  but,  from  my  own  experience,  I 
think  he  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  at  his 
worst.  To  watch  your  graceful  move 
ments,  to  delight  in  the  play  of  expres 
sion  on  your  face,  and  to  catch  every  in 
flection  in  your  voice  and  every  word  you 
speak  are  pleasures  so  engrossing  to  me 
that  I  must  appear  to  you  even  more  ab- 
208 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

stracted  than  I  ordinarily  am,  though  a 
dreamer  at  best.  And  yet  now  and  then 
I  have  thought  you  were  conscious  of  a 
tenderness  in  me,  which,  try  as  I  will,  I 
cannot  altogether  hide. 

The  main  fault  of  the  novel  was  un 
questionably  that  most  accented  by  the 
reader,  and,  recognizing  the  story  as  the 
problem  of  your  life,  I  understood  why 
you  supplied  no  solution  to  the  riddle. 
You  begged  the  question  you  propounded ; 
the  fact  that  your  heroine  married  the 
hero  being  no  answer,  since  only  by  the 
results  of  that  marriage  would  it  be  pos 
sible  to  say  if  she  had  chosen  the  better 
part.  It  was  this  that  convinced  me  you 
were  putting  on  paper  your  own  thoughts 
and  mood.  You  were  debating  this 
theme,  and  could  carry  it  in  imagination 
to  the  point  of  marriage ;  but  what  lay 
beyond  that  was  unknowable,  and  you 
made  no  attempt  to  invent  a  conclusion, 
the  matter  being  too  real  to  you  to  be 
merely  a  subject  for  artistic  idealism  and 
209 


THE   STORY    OF 

invention.  Hitherto  I  had  classed  Mr. 
Whitely  with  your  other  lovers,  feeling 
sure  that  you  could  not  love  him  any 
more  than  you  could  any  of  them ;  but 
now  for  the  first  time  I  began  to  fear  his 
success. 

After  reading  the  story  three  times  I 
carried  it  back  to  the  manuscript  clerk ; 
and  when  I  had  allowed  sufficient  time 
for  it  to  be  returned,  I  wrote  you  a  long 
letter,  telling  how  I  had  come  to  read 
the  story,  and  making  a  careful  criticism 
and  analysis  of  both  its  defects  and  its 
merits.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  labor 
of  love  that  letter  was,  or  how  much 
greater  pains  I  took  over  your  book  than 
I  have  ever  taken  over  any  writing  of  my 
own.  What  was  perhaps  unfair,  after 
pointing  out  the  inconclusiveness  of  your 
ending,  I  sketched  what  I  claimed  was 
the  logical  end  to  the  story.  Thinking 
as  I  did  that  I  knew  the  original  in  your 
mind,  I  was  more  influenced  by  my  know 
ledge  of  him  than  I  was  by  the  character 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

in  your  book,  and  therefore  possibly  my 
inference  was  unjust.  But  in  hopes  of 
saving  you  from  Mr.  Whitely,  I  pictured 
a  sequel  in  which  your  heroine  found 
only  greater  loneliness  in  her  loveless 
union,  her  husband's  love  proving  a  tax, 
and  not  a  boon  ;  and  marriage,  instead  of 
broadening  her  life,  only  bent  and  nar 
rowed  it  by  just  so  much  as  a  strong- 
willed  and  selfish  man  would  inevitably 
cramp  the  life  of  one  over  whom  law  and 
public  opinion  gave  him  control. 

I  was  richly  rewarded  by  your  letter  of 
thanks.  You  were  so  winning  in  your 
sweet  acceptance  of  all  my  criticisms, 
and  so  lovable  in  your  simple  gratitude, 
that  I  would  have  done  a  thousand  times 
the  work  to  earn  such  a  letter.  Yet 
even  in  this  guerdon  I  could  not  escape 
the  sting  of  my  unhappy  lot ;  for,  unable 
to  reconcile  my  distant  conduct  with  the 
apparent  trouble  I  had  taken,  you  asked 
me  to  dinner,  leaving  me  to  select  the 
day,  and  spoke  of  the  pleasure  it  would 

211 


THE   STORY   OF 

give  you  to  have  an  opportunity  to  talk 
over  the  book  with  me. 

I  can  think  of  few  greater  delights 
than  to  have  gone  over  your  story,  line 
by  line  and  incident  by  incident.  My 
love  pleaded  with  me  to  take  the  chance, 
pointing  out  that  it  would  do  you  no 
harm,  but  on  the  contrary  aid  you,  and 
I  found  a  dozen  specious  reasons  ;  but 
tempt  me  as  they  might,  I  always  came 
back  to  the  truth  that  if  you  knew  who  I 
really  was  you  would  not  invite  me,  nor 
accept  a  favor  at  my  hands.  In  the  end 
I  wrote  you  that  my  time  was  so  mort 
gaged  that  I  must  deny  myself  the  pleas 
ure.  A  small  compensation  was  my 
offer  that  if  you  chose  to  rewrite  the 
story  and  send  me  the  manuscript,  I 
would  gladly  read  it  over  again  and  make 
any  further  suggestions  which  occurred 
to  me.  You  thanked  rne  by  letter  grace 
fully,  but  I  was  conscious  of  your  bewil 
derment  in  the  very  care  with  which  you 
phrased  your  note;  and  when  next  we 

212 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

met  I  could  see  that  I  had  become  more 
an  enigma  than  ever,  —  for  which  there 
is  indeed  small  wonder. 
God  keep  you,  my  darling. 
213 


THE   STORY   OF 


XVIII 

March  9.  What  seemed  my  misfor 
tune  proved  quite  the  reverse.  You  evi 
dently  mentioned  to  Agnes  my  refusing 
to  dine  with  you,  and  the  next  time  I 
saw  her  she  took  me  to  task  for  it. 

"It's  too  bad  of  you,"  she  told  me, 
"  when  I  have  explained  to  you  how  sen 
sitive  Maizie  is,  and  how  she  has  the  idea 
that  nice  men  do  not  like  her,  that  you 
should  go  and  confirm  her  in  the  feeling 
by  treating  her  so  !  Why  don't  you  like 
her  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  was  all  I  said. 

"No,  you  don't,"  she  denied  indig 
nantly.  "  I  suppose  men  dislike  fine  wo 
men  because  they  make  them  feel  what 
poor  things  they  are  themselves !  " 

"I  like  you,  Miss  Blodgett,"  I  replied. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  retorted,  "or 
214 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

you  would  be  nice  to  my  best  friend 
Besides,  the  idea  of  mentioning  me  in  the 
same  breath  as  Maizie !  Men  are  born 
geese." 

"  Then  you  should  pity  rather  than  up 
braid  us,"  I  suggested. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  intend  to  do," 
went  on  Agnes.  "You  promised  us  a 
visit  this  summer,  and  I  am  going  to  ar 
range  for  Maizie  to  be  there  at  the  time, 
so  that  you  can  really  get  to  know  her. 
And  then,  if  you  don't  like  her,  I  '11  never 
forgive  you." 

"  Now,  Agnes,"  ordered  Mrs.  Blodgett 
crossly,  "  stop  teasing  the  doctor.  I  'm 
fond  of  Maizie,  but  I  'm  fairly  tired  with 
men  falling  in  love  with  her,  and  I  am 
glad  to  find  one  who  has  n't." 

All  last  spring  and  summer,  as  I  toiled 
over  the  proof  sheets  of  my  history,  I 
was  waiting  and  dreaming  of  that  prom 
ised  fortnight  with  you.  I  was  so  eager 
in  my  hope  that  when  I  found  Agnes  at 
the  station,  it  was  all  I  could  do  not  to 
215 


THE    STORY   OF 

make  my  greeting  a  question  whether 
you  were  visiting  them.  Luckily,  she 
was  almost  as  eager  as  I  was,  and  hardly 
was  I  seated  in  the  trap  when  she  an 
nounced,  — 

"  Mamma  wanted  to  ask  you  when  we 
were  alone,  and  would  n't  hear  at  first  of 
even  Maizie  being  with  us ;  but  I  told 
papa  of  my  plan,  and  he  insisted  that 
Maizie  should  be  invited.  Was  n't  he  an 
old  love  ?  And  now,  Dr.  Hartzmann, 
you  '11  try  to  like  Maizie,  won't  you  ? 
And  even  if  you  can't,  just  pretend  that 
you  do,  please." 

If  the  groom  had  not  mounted  the 
rumble  at  this  point,  I  believe  I  should 
have  told  her  of  my  love  for  you,  the  im 
pulse  was  so  strong,  in  my  gratitude  and 
admiration  for  the  unselfish  love  she  had 
for  you. 

A  result  of  this  misunderstanding  was 
an  amusing  game  of  cross-purposes  be 
tween  mother  and  daughter.  Agnes  was 
always  throwing  us  together,  scarcely  at- 
216 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

tempting  to  veil  her  wishes,  while  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  thinking  that  I  did  not  care  for 
you,  was  always  interfering  to  save  me 
from  your  society.  She  proposed  that  I 
should  teach  Agnes  chess,  and  left  us 
playing ;  but  when  you  joined  us,  Agnes 
insisted  that  she  could  learn  more  by 
watching  us,  only  to  play  truant  the  mo 
ment  you  had  taken  her  place.  I  shall 
never  forget  Mrs.  Blodgett's  amazement 
and  irritation,  on  her  return,  at  finding 
us  playing,  and  Agnes  not  to  be  seen. 
Equally  unsuccessful  was  an  attempt  to 
teach  Agnes  fencing,  for  she  grew  fright 
ened  before  the  foils  had  really  been 
crossed,  and  made  you  take  her  place. 
At  first  I  imagined  she  only  pretended 
fear,  but  Mrs.  Blodgett  became  so  very 
angry  over  her  want  of  courage  that  I 
had  to  think  it  genuine.  When  we  went 
to  drive  as  a  party  there  was  always  much 
discussion  as  to  how  we  should  sit ;  and 
in  fact  my  two  friends  kept  at  swords' 
points  most  of  the  time,  in  their  en 
217 


THE   STORY    OF 

deavors  to  make  me  tolerate  or  save  me 
from  the  companionship  of  the  woman  I 
loved.  Even  I  could  see  the  comedy  of 
the  situation. 

In  one  of  our  conversations  you  re 
verted  to  your  novel,  and  questioned  my 
view  of  the  impossibility  of  the  heroine 
being  happy  in  her  marriage,  evidently 
influenced,  but  not  convinced,  by  my 
opinion. 

"To  me  it  is  perfectly  conceivable," 
you  argued,  "  that,  regardless  of  her  lov 
ing,  a  woman  can  be  as  happy  married  as 
single,  and  that  it  all  depends  upon  what 
she  makes  of  her  own  life." 

"  But  in  marriage,"  I  contended,  "  she 
is  not  free  to  make  her  life  at  all." 

"Surely  she  is  if  her  husband  truly 
loves  her." 

"  Less  so  than  if  he  does  not." 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest  ? " 

"Yes.  Love  makes  women  less  self 
ish,  but  with  many  men  it  often  has  the 
opposite  effect.  The  man  you  drew,  Miss 
218 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Walton,  was  so  firm  that  he  would  not 
be  other  than  selfish,  and  if  my  reading 
of  your  heroine  is  correct,  she  was  a 
woman  who  would  resign  her  own  will, 
rather  than  lower  her  self-respect  by 
conflicts  with  her  husband." 

"  But  he  loved  her." 

"In  a  selfish  man's  way.  If  women 
knew  better  what  that  meant,  there  would 
be  fewer  unhappy  marriages." 

"Then  you  are  sure  my  heroine  did 
wrong  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  did  what  thousands  of 
other  women  have  done,  —  she  married 
the  love  rather  than  the  lover." 

"No.  I  did  not  intend  that.  She 
married  for  quite  other  things  than  love : 
for  greater  freedom,  for  "  — 

"  Would  she  have  married,"  I  inter 
rupted,  "  if  she  had  not  been  sure  that 
the  hero  loved  her  ? " 

You  thought  an  instant,  and  then  said, 
"  No,  I  suppose  not  —  and  yet  "  —  You 
stopped,  and  then  continued  impulsively, 
219 


THE    STORY    OF 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  shock  you  very 
much  if  I  say  that  I  have  no  faith  in 
what  we  call  love  ? " 

"  You  do  not  shock  me,  Miss  Walton, 
because  I  do  not  believe  you." 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless.  Perhaps  it 
is  my  own  fault,  but  I  have  never  found 
any  love  that  was  wholly  free  from  self- 
indulgence  or  self-interest." 

"  If  you  rate  love  so  low,  why  did  you 
make  your  heroine  crave  it  ? " 

"  One  can  desire  love  even  when  one 
cannot  feel  it." 

"  Does  one  desire  what  one  despises  ? " 

"To  scorn  money  does  not  imply  a 
preference  for  poverty." 

"  The  scorn  of  money  is  as  genuine  as 
your  incapacity  to  love,  Miss  Walton." 

"  You  do  not  believe  me  ?  " 

"  A  person  incapable  of  love  does  not 
crave  it.  It  is  only  a  loving  nature  which 
cares  for  love." 

"  But  if  one  cannot  love,  how  can  one 
believe  in  it  ?  " 

220 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  The  unlighted  torch  does  not  believe 
in  fire." 

"  But  some  substances  are  incombusti 
ble." 

"The  sun  melts  anything." 

"The  sun  is  trans-terrestrial." 

"So  is  love." 

You  looked  at  me  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  asked,  "  Is  love  so  much 
to  you  ? " 

"  Love  is  the  only  thing  worth  striving 
for  in  this  life,"  I  replied. 

"  And  if  one  fails  to  win  it  ? " 

"One  cannot  fail,  Miss  Walton." 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  Because  the  best  love  is  in  one's  own 
heart  and  depends  only  on  one's  self." 

"And  if  one  has  loved,"  you  responded 
hurriedly,  with  a  mistiness  in  your  eyes 
which  proved  how  deeply  you  were  feel 
ing,  "  if  one  gives  everything  —  only  to 
find  the  object  base  —  if  "  —  You  stopped 
speaking  and  looked  away. 

"  One  still  has  the  love,  Miss  Walton  ; 


THE   STORY   OF 

for  it  is  that  which  is  given,  and  not  that 
which  is  received,  that  is  worth  the  hav 
ing."  I  faltered  in  my  emotion,  and 
then,  almost  unconscious  of  what  I  said, 
went  on  :  "  For  many  years  I  have  loved, 
—  a  love  from  the  first  impossible  and 
hopeless.  Yet  it  is  the  one  happiness  of 
my  present  life,  and  rather  than  "  —  I 
recovered  control  of  myself,  and  became 
silent  as  I  heard  Mrs.  Blodgett  coming 
along  the  veranda. 

You  leaned  forward,  saying  softly, 
"  Thank  you  for  the  confidence."  Then, 
as  Mrs.  Blodgett  joined  us,  you  said, 
"  I  envy  you  your  happiness,  Dr.  Hartz- 
mann." 

"What  happiness  is  that  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other 
curiously. 

"  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you  explained 
calmly,  without  a  trace  of  the  emotion 
that  had  moved  you  a  moment  before, 
"  has  been  proving  to  me  that  all  happi 
ness  is  subjective,  and  as  I  have  never 

222 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

been  able  to  rise  to  such  a  height  I  am 
very  envious  of  him." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Blodgett.  "  But  if  the  doc 
tor  wants  to  know  what  real  happiness  is, 
he  had  better  marry  some  nice  girl  and 
have  his  own  home  instead  of  living  in  a 
boarding-house." 

You  laughed,  and  added,  "Now  our 
happiness  becomes  objective.  Perhaps  it 
is  the  best,  after  all,  Dr.  Hartzmann." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Miss  Walton  ? "  I 
asked,  unable  to  prevent  an  emphasis  in 
the  question. 

You  rose,  saying,  "I  must  dress  for 
dinner."  But  in  the  window  you  turned, 
and  answered,  "I  have  always  thought 
it  was,  but  there  are  evident  exceptions, 
Dr.  Hartzmann,  and  after  what  you  have 
told  me  I  think  you  are  one  of  them." 

"  And  not  yourself  ? "  I  could  not  help 
asking. 

You   held    up    your   hand  warningly. 
"  When  the  nature  of  dolls  is  too  deeply 
223 


THE   STORY   OF 

questioned  into,  they  are  found  to  con 
tain  only  sawdust." 

"And  we  often  open  the  oyster,  to 
find  sometimes  a  pearl." 

"The  result  of  a  morbid  condition," 
you  laughed  back. 

"  Better  disease  and  a  pearl  than  health 
without  it." 

"  But  suppose  one  incapable  of  the 
ailment  ?  Should  one  be  blamed  if  no 
pearl  forms  ? " 

"  An  Eastern  poet  said  :  — 

Diving  and  finding  no  pearl  in  the  sea, 
Blame  not  the  ocean,  —  the  fault  is  in  thee. 

Have  you  ever  tried  to  find  a  pearl,  Miss 
Walton  ? " 

You  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Like  the 
Englishman's  view  of  the  conundrum," 
you  finally  parried  archly,  "that  would 
be  a  good  joke  if  there  only  was  n't  some 
thing  to  'guess  '  in  it." 

"  Do  you  know  what  Maizie  is  talking 
about  ? "  demanded  Mrs.  Blodgett  dis 
contentedly. 

224 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"Better  than  Miss  Walton  does  her 
self,  I  think,"  I  averred. 

You  had  started  to  go,  but  again  you 
turned,  and  asked  with  interest,  "  What 
do  I  mean  ? " 

"  That  you  believe  what  you  think  you 
don't." 

You  stood  looking  at  me  for  a  moment. 
"We  are  becoming  friends,  Dr.  Hartz- 
mann,"  you  affirmed,  and  passed  through 
the  window. 

Good-night,  dear  friend. 
225 


THE    STORY    OF 


XIX 

March  10.  For  the  remainder  of  my 
visit,  it  seemed  as  if  your  prophecy  of 
friendship  were  to  be  fulfilled.  From 
the  moment  of  my  confidence  to  you,  all 
the  reserves  that  had  been  raised  by  my 
slighting  of  your  invitations  disappeared, 
perhaps  because  the  secret  I  had  shared 
with  you  served  to  make  my  past  conduct 
less  unreasonable  ;  still  more,  I  believe, 
because  of  the  faith  in  you  it  evidenced 
in  me.  Certain  I  am  that  in  the  follow 
ing  week  I  felt  able  to  be  my  true  self 
when  with  you,  for  the  first  time  since 
we  were  boy  and  girl  together.  The  dif 
ference  was  so  marked  that  you  com 
mented  on  the  change. 

"Do  you  remember,"  you  asked  me, 
"  our  conversation  in  Mr.  Whitely's  study, 
when  I  spoke  of  how  little  people  really 
226 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

knew  one  another  ?  Here  we  have  been 
meeting  for  over  three  years,  and  yet  I 
find  that  I  have  n't  in  the  least  known 
you." 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  recall  that 
whole  conversation,  for  it  was  by  far  the 
most  intimate  that  we  ever  had,  —  so 
personal  that  I  think  I  should  but  have 
had  to  question  to  learn  what  I  long  to 
know.  In  response  to  my  slight  assist 
ance,  to  the  sympathy  I  had  shown,  you 
opened  for  the  moment  your  heart ;  will 
ing,  apparently,  that  I  should  fathom 
your  true  nature. 

We  had  gone  to  dinner  at  the  Gran 
gers'  merely  to  please  Mrs.  Blodgett,  for 
we  mutually  agreed  that  in  the  country 
formal  dinners  were  a  weariness  of  the 
flesh  ;  and  I  presume  that  with  you,  as 
with  me,  this  general  objection  of  ours 
was  greatly  strengthened  when  we  found 
Mrs.  Polhemus  among  the  guests.  It  is 
always  painful  to  me  to  be  near  her,  and 
her  dislike  of  you  is  obvious  enough  to 
227 


THE    STORY    OF 

make  me  sure  that  her  presence  is  equally 
disagreeable  to  you.  It  is  a  strange 
warp  and  woof  life  weaves,  that  I  owe 
to  one  for  whom  we  both  feel  such  re 
pulsion  the  most  sympathetic,  the  ten- 
derest  conversation  I  have  ever  had  with 
you. 

I  was  talking  with  Miss  Granger,  and 
thus  did  not  hear  the  beginning  of  my 
mother's  girds  at  you  ;  but  Agnes,  who 
sat  on  my  left,  told  me  later  that,  as 
usual,  Mrs.  Polhemus  set  out  to  bait  you 
by  remarks  superficially  inoffensive,  but 
covertly  planned  to  embarrass  or  sting. 
The  first  thing  which  attracted  my  notice 
was  her  voice  distinctly  raised,  as  if  she 
wished  the  whole  table  to  listen,  and  in 
fact  loud  enough  to  make  Miss  Granger 
stop  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and 
draw  our  attention  to  the  speaker. 

"  —  sound  very  well,"  Mrs.  Polhemus 
was   saying,    "and   are   to    be   expected 
from  any  one  who  strives  to  be  thought 
romantically  sentimental." 
228 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  did  not  know,"  you  replied  in  a  low 
voice,  "  that  a  '  romantically  sentimental ' 
nature  was  needed  to  produce  belief  in 
honesty." 

"It  is  easy  enough  to  talk  the  high 
morals  of  honesty,"  retorted  your  assail 
ant,  "and  I  suppose,  Miss  Walton,  that 
for  you  it  is  not  difficult  to  live  up  to 
your  ^ conversational  ideals.  But  we  un 
fortunate  earthly  creatures,  who  cannot 
achieve  so  rarefied  a  life,  dare  not  make 
a  parade  of  our  ethical  natures.  The 
saintly  woman  is  an  enormously  difficult 
r61e  to  play  since  miracles  went  out  of 
style." 

"  Oh,  leave  us  an  occasional  ideal,  Mrs. 
Polhemus,"  laughed  a  guest.  "  I  for  one 
wish  that  fairy  rings  and  genii  were  still 
the  vogue." 

"  But  we  have  some  kinds  of  miracles," 
asserted  Mrs.  Granger.  "  Remember  the 
distich,  — 

'  God  still  works  wonders  now  and  then: 
Behold  1  two  lawyers,  honest  men  1 ' " 
229 


THE   STORY    OF 

"  With  all  due  deference  to  Miss  Wal 
ton's  championing  of  absolute  perfection," 
continued  my  mother,  with  a  cleverly 
detached  manner,  to  veil  what  lay  back 
of  the  sneer,  "I  find  it  much  easier  to 
accept  the  miracle  of  an  honest  lawyer 
than  that  of  an  absolutely  uncattish  wo 
man," —  a  speech  which,  like  most  of 
those  of  Mrs.  Polhemus,  drew  a  laugh 
from  the  men. 

"That 's  because  you  don't  know  Miss 
Walton !  "  exclaimed  Agnes  warmly,  evi 
dently  fretted  by  such  conduct  towards 
you. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  answered  my  mo 
ther,  speaking  coolly  and  evenly,  "  I  pre 
sume  I  have  known  Miss  Walton  longer 
and  better  than  any  one  else  in  this  room  ; 
and  I  remember  when  her  views  of  hon 
esty  were  such  that  her  ideal  was  person 
ified  by  a  pair  of  embezzlers." 

You  had  been  meeting  her  gaze  across 
the  table  as  she  spoke,  but  now  you 
dropped  your  lids,  hiding  your  eyes  be- 
230 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

hind  their  long  lashes ;  and  nothing  but 
the  color  receding  from  your  cheeks, 
leaving  them  as  white  as  your  throat  and 
brow,  told  of  what  you  felt. 

"  Oh,  say  something,"  appealed  Agnes 
to  me  in  a  whisper.  "  Anything  to  divert 
the"  — 

"And  I  really  think,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Polhemus,  smiling  sweetly,  with  her  eyes 
on  you,  "  that  if  you  were  as  thoroughly 
honest  with  us  as,  a  moment  ago,  you 
were  insistent  on  the  world's  being,  you 
would  confess  to  a  tendresse  still  felt  for 
that  particular  form  of  obliquity." 

I  shall  recall  the  moment  which  fol 
lowed  that  speech  if  it  shall  ever  fall  to 
me  to  sit  in  the  jury-box  and  pass  judg 
ment  on  a  murderer,  for  I  know  that  had 
\  been  armed,  and  my  mother  a  man,  I 
should  have  killed  her ;  and  it  taught  me 
that  murder  is  in  every  man's  heart. 
Yet  I  was  not  out  of  my  head,  but  was. 
curiously  clear-minded.  Though  allusion 
to  my  shame  had  hitherto  always  made 


THE    STORY    OF 

me  dumb,  I  was  able  to  speak  now  with 
out  the  slightest  difficulty ;  I  imagine 
because  the  thought  of  your  pain  made 
me  forget  my  own. 

"Which  is  better,  Mrs.  Polhemus,"  I 
asked,  with  a  calmness  I  marveled  at 
afterwards,  *"  to  love  dishonesty  or  to  dis 
honestly  love  ? " 

"  Is  this  a  riddle  ? "  she  said,  though 
not  removing  her  eyes  from  you. 

"  I  suppose,  since  right  and  wrong  are 
evolutionary,"  I  rejoined,  "that  every 
ethical  question  is  more  or  less  of  a  co 
nundrum.  But  the  thought  in  my  mind 
was  that  there  is  only  nobility  in  a  love 
so  great  that  it  can  outlast  even  wrong 
doing."  Then,  in  my  controlled  passion, 
I  stabbed  her  as  deeply  as  I  could  make 
words  stab.  "  Compare  such  a  love,  for 
instance,  with  another  of  which  I  have 
heard,  — that  of  a  woman  who  so  valued 
the  world's  opinion  that  she  would  not 
get  a  divorce  from  an  embezzling  hus 
band,  because  of  the  social  stigma  it  in- 
232 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

volved,  yet  who  remarried  within  a  week 
of  hearing  of  her  first  husband's  death, 
because  she  thought  that  fact  could  not 
be  known.  Which  love  is  the  higher  ? " 

The  color  blazed  up  in  my  mother's 
cheeks,  as  she  turned  from  you  to  look 
at  me,  with  eyes  that  would  have  killed 
if  they  could ;  and  it  was  her  manner,  far 
more  than  even  the  implication  of  my 
words,  which  told  the  rest  of  the  table 
that  my  nominally  impersonal  case  was 
truly  a  thrust  of  the  knife.  A  moment's 
appalling  pause  followed,  and  then,  though 
the  fruit  was  being  passed,  the  hostess 
broke  the  terrible  spell  by  rising,  as  if 
the  time  had  come  for  the  ladies  to  with 
draw. 

When,  later,  the  men  followed  them, 
Agnes  intercepted  me  at  the  door,  and 
whispered,  "  Oh,  doctor,  it  was  magni 
ficent  !  I  was  so  afraid  Maizie  would 
break  down  if —  I  never  dreamed  you 
could  do  it  so  splendidly.  You  're  almost 
as  much  of  a  love  as  papa !  It  will  teach 
233 


THE    STORY    OF 

the  cat  to  let  Maizie  alone !  Now,  do 
you  want  to  be  extra  good  ? " 

"  So  long  as  you  don't  want  any  more 
vitriol  -  throwing,"  I  assented,  smiling. 
"  Remember  that  a  hostess  deserves 
some  consideration." 

"I  told  Mrs.  Granger  that  you  did  it 
at  my  request,  and  there  was  n't  a  woman 
in  the  room  who  didn't  want  to  cheer. 
We  all  love  Maizie,  and  hate  Mrs.  Polhe- 
mus ;  and  it  is  n't  a  bit  because  you  geese 
of  men  think  she's  handsome  and  clever, 
either.  Poor  Maizie  wanted  to  be  by 
herself,  and  went  out  on  the  veranda.  I 
think  she  's  had  time  enough,  and  that 
it 's  best  for  some  one  to  go  to  her. 
Won't  you  slip  out  quietly  ? " 

I  nodded,  and  instantly  she  spoke 
aloud  of  the  moon,  and  we  went  to  the 
French  window  on  the  pretense  of  look 
ing  at  it,  where,  after  a  moment,  I  left 
her.  At  first  I  could  not  discover  you, 
the  vines  so  shadowed  your  retreat ;  and 
when  I  did,  it  was  to  find  you  with  bowed 
234 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

head  buried  in  your  arms  as  they  rested 
on  the  veranda  rail.  The  whole  attitude 
was  so  suggestive  of  grief  that  I  did  not 
dare  to  speak,  and  moved  to  go  away. 
Just  as  I  turned,  however,  you  looked  up, 
as  if  suddenly  conscious  of  some  pres 
ence. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  intrude,  Miss 
Walton,  and  don't  let  me  disturb  you.  I 
will  rejoin  "  — 

"If  you  came  out  for  the  moonlight 
and  quiet,  sit  down  here,"  you  said,  mak 
ing  room  for  me. 

I  seated  myself  beside  you,  but  made 
no  reply,  thinking  your  allusion  to  quiet 
perhaps  voiced  your  own  preference. 

"  It  seems  needless,"  you  began,  after 
a  slight  pause,  "  to  ignore  your  kindness, 
even  though  it  was  veiled.  I  never  felt 
so  completely  in  another's  power,  and 
though  I  tried  to  —  to  say  something 
—  to  strike  back  —  I  could  n't.  Did 
my  face  so  betray  me  that  you  knew  I 
needed  help  ? " 

235 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  Your  face  told  nothing,  it  seemed  to 
me." 

"  But  that  makes  it  positively  uncanny. 
Over  and  over  again  you  appear  to  divine 
my  thoughts  or  moods.  Do  you  ?  " 

"Little  more  than  any  one  can  of  a 
person  in  whom  one  is  interested  enough 
to  notice  keenly." 

"Yet  no  one  else  does  it  with  me, 
And  several  times,  when  we  have  caught 
each  other's  eyes,  we  have  —  at  least  1 
have  felt  sure  that  you  were  laughing 
with  me,  though  your  face  was  grave." 

"  Who  was  uncannily  mind  -  reading 
then  ? " 

"An  adequate  tu  guoque"-yovi  said, 
laughing ;  then  you  went  on  seriously  -. 
"Still,  to  be  frank,  as  now  I  think  we 
can  be,  I  have  never  made  any  pretense 
that  I  was  n't  very  much  interested  in  you 
—  while  you  —  well  —  till  very  lately,  I 
have  n't  been  able  to  make  up  my  mind 
that  you  did  not  actually  —  no,  not  dis 
like  —  for  I  knew  that  you  —  I  could  not 
236 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

be  unconscious  of  the  genuine  esteem 
you  have  made  so  evident  —  yet  there 
has  always  been,  until  the  last  two  weeks, 
an  indefinable  barrier,  of  your  making,  as 
it  appeared  to  me,  and  from  that  I  could 
only  infer  some  —  I  can  give  it  no  name." 

"  Were  there  no  natural  barriers  to  a 
friendship  between  a  struggling  writer 
and  Miss  Walton  ? " 

"  Surely  you  are  above  that ! "  you 
exclaimed.  "You  have  not  let  such  a 
distinction —  Oh  no,  for  it  has  not 
stood  in  the  way  of  friendship  with  the 
Blodgetts." 

A  moment's  silence  ensued,  and  then 
you  spoke  again  :  "  Perhaps  there  was  a 
motive  that  explains  it.  Please  don't  re 
ply,  if  it  is  a  question  I  ought  not  to  put, 
but  after  your  confidence  of  last  week  I 
feel  as  if  you  had  given  me  the  privilege 
to  ask  it.  I  have  always  thought  —  or 
rather  hoped  —  that  you  cared  for  Agnes  ? 
If"  — 

"And  so  you  married  me  to  her  in 
237 


THE   STORY    OF 

the  novel,"  I  interrupted,  in  an  effort  to 
change  the  subject,  dreading  to  what  it 
might  lead. 

You  laughed  merrily  as  you  said,  "  Oh, 
I  'm  so  glad  you  spoke  of  that.  I  have 
often  wondered  if  you  recognized  the 
attempted  portrait,  —  which  now  I  know 
is  not  a  bit  of  a  likeness,  —  and  have 
longed  to  ask  you.  I  never  should  have 
dared  to  sketch  it,  but  I  thought  my  pen 
name  would  conceal  my  criminality ;  and 
then  what  a  fatality  for  you  to  read  it !  I 
never  suspected  you  were  the  publisher's 
reader.  What  have  you  thought  of  me  ? " 

"  That  you  drew  a  very  pleasant  picture 
of  my  supposed  mental  and  moral  attain 
ments,  at  the  expense  of  my  ambition  and 
will.  My  true  sympathy,  however,  went 
out  to  the  girl  whom  you  offered  up  as  a 
heart-restorer  for  my  earlier  attachment." 

"  I  'm  thankful  we  are  in  the  shadow," 
you  laughed,  "so   that   my  red   cheeks 
don't    show.      You    are   taking   a  most 
thoroughgoing  revenge." 
238 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"That  was  the  last  thought  in  my 
mind." 

"Then,  my  woman's  curiosity  having 
been  appeased,  be  doubly  generous  and 
spare  my  absurd  blushes.  I  don't  know 
when  I  have  been  made  to  feel  so  young 
and  foolish." 

"Clearly  you  are  no  hardened  crimi 
nal,  Miss  Walton.  Usually  matchmakers 
glory  in  their  shame." 

"Perhaps  I  should  if  I  had  not  been 
detected,  or  if  I  had  succeeded  better." 

"You  took,  I  fear,  a  difficult  subject 
For  what  may  truly  be  called  your  maiden 
experiment." 

"  Did  I  not  ?  And  yet  —  You  see  I 
recognized  potentialities  for  loving  in  you. 
You  can —  Ah,  you  have  suggested  to 
me  a  revenge  for  your  jokes.  Did  you 
—  were  you  the  man  who  coined  the 
phrase  that  my  eyes  were  too  dressy  for 
the  daytime  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  confessed  guiltily,  "but"  — 

"  No,  don't  dare  to  try  to  explain  it 
239 


THE   STORY   OF 

away,"  you  ordered.  "How  could  you 
say  it  ?  We  can  never  be  friends,  after 
all." 

Though  you  spoke  in  evident  gayety,  I 
answered  gravely  :  "  You  will  forgive  me 
when  I  tell  you  that  it  was  to  parry  a 
thrust  of  Mrs.  Polhemus's  at  you,  and  I 
made  a  joke  of  it  only  because  I  did  not 
choose  to  treat  her  gibe  seriously.  I 
hoped  it  would  not  come  back  to  you." 

"Every  friend  I  have  has  quoted  it, 
not  once,  but  a  dozen  times,  in  my  pres 
ence.  If  you  knew  how  I  have  been 
persecuted  and  teased  with  that  remark ! 
You  are  twice  the  criminal  that  I  have 
been,  for  at  least  my  libel  was  never 
published.  Yet  you  are  unblushing." 

We  both  sat  silent  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  you  began  :  "  You  interrupted 
a  question  of  mine  just  now.  Was  it  a 
chance  or  a  purposed  diversion  ?  You 
see,"  you  added  hastily,  "  I  am  presum 
ing  that  henceforth  we  are  to  be  candid." 

"  I  confess  to  an  intention  in  the  dodg- 
240 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

ing,  not  because  I  feared  the  question, 
for  a  simple  negative  was  all  it  needed, 
but  I  was  afraid  of  what  might  follow." 

"  I  hoped,  after  the  trust  of  the  other 
day  —  You  do  not  want  to  tell  me  your 
story  ? " 

"  Are  there  not  some  things  that  can 
not  be  put  into  words,  Miss  Walton? 
Could  you  tell  me  your  story  ?  " 

"  But  mine  is  no  mystery,"  you  replied. 
"  It  has  been  the  world's  property  for 
years.  Why,  your  very  help  to-night 
proves  that  it  is  known  to  you, — that 
you  know,  indeed,  facts  that  were  un 
known  to  me." 

"  Facts,  yes  ;  feelings,  no." 

"  Do  you  appreciate  the  subtilty  of 
the  compliment  ?  You  really  care  for 
such  valueless  and  indefinable  things  as 
feelings  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  A  bargain,  then,  while  you  are  in  this 
mood  of  giving  something  for  nothing. 
Question  for  question,  if  you  choose." 
241 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  You  can  tell  your  secrets  ? " 

"To  you,  yes,  for  you  have  told  me 
your  greatest." 

"Then,  with  the  privilege  of  silence 
for  both,  begin." 

"Ah,  you  begin  already  to  fear  the 
gimlet !  Yes.  Nothing  is  to  be  told 
that  —  There  again  we  lack  a  definition, 
do  we  not  ?  Never  mind.  We  shall  un 
derstand.  You  knew  her  in  Germany  ? " 

"Yes." 

"And  she —  You  wear  a  mask,  at 
moments  even  merry-faced,  but  now  and 
again  I  have  surprised  a  look  of  such  sad 
ness  in  your  eyes  that  —  Is  that  why 
you  came  to  America  ?  She  "  — 

"  No.  She  was,  and  is,  in  so  different 
a  class,  that  I  never  "  — 

"You  should  not  allow  that  to  be  a 
bar  !  Any  woman  "  — 

"But  even  more,  there  are  other 
claims  upon  me,  which  make  marriage 
out  of  the  question." 

"And  this  is  why  you  have  resigned 
242 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

reputation  for  money-making  ?  Is  there 
no  escape  ?  Oh,  it  seems  too  cruel  to 
be!" 

"You  draw  it  worse  than  it  is,  Miss 
Walton,  forgetting  that  I  told  you  of  my 
happiness  in  loving." 

"  You  make  me  proud  to  feel  that  we 
are  friends,  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you  said 
gently.  "  I  hope  she  is  worthy  of  such 
a  love?" 

I  merely  nodded ;  and  after  a  slight 
pause  you  remarked,  "  Now  it  is  only  fair 
to  give  you  a  turn." 

I  had  been  pondering,  after  my  first 
impulsive  assent,  over  my  right  to  win 
your  confidence,  with  the  one  inevitable 
conclusion  that  was  so  clear,  and  I  an 
swered,  "I  have  no  questions  to  ask, 
Miss  Walton." 

"Then  I  can  ask  no  more,  of  course," 
you  replied  quietly,  and  at  once  turned 
the  conversation  into  less  personal  sub 
jects,  until  the  time  came  for  our  return 
to  My  Fancy. 

243 


THE    STORY    OF 

When  we  parted  in  the  upper  hall,  that 
evening,  you  said  to  me,  "  I  always  value 
your  opinion,  and  it  usually  influences  me. 
Do  you,  as  your  speech  to-night  implied, 
think  it  right  to  go  on  loving  baseness  ? " 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  right  and 
wrong,  but  only  whether  the  love  re 
mains." 

"Then  you  don't  think  it  a  duty  to 
crush  it  out  ? " 

"  No.  All  love  is  noble  that  is  distinct 
from  self." 

You  held  out  your  hand.  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  think  so,  and  that  you  spoke 
your  thought.  You  have  done  me  a 
great  kindness, — greater  far  than  you 
can  ever  know.  Thank  you,  and  good 
night." 

Good-night,  Maizie. 
244 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 


XX 

March  n.  When  I  left  My  Fancy, 
after  my  visit,  Agnes  had  nothing  but 
praise  for  me.  "  I  was  certain  that  you 
and  Maizie  would  be  friends  if  you  ever 
really  knew  each  other,"  she  said  trium 
phantly.  Unfortunately,  our  first  meet 
ing  in  the  city  served  only  to  prove  the 
reverse.  In  one  of  my  daily  walks  up 
town,  I  met  you  and  Agnes  outside  a  shop 
where  -you  had  been  buying  Christmas 
gifts  for  the  boys  of  your  Neighborhood 
Guild.  You  were  looking  for  the  car 
riage,  about  which  there  had  been  some 
mistake,  and  I  helped  you  search.  When 
our  hunt  was  unsuccessful,  you  both  said 
you  would  rather  walk  than  let  me  get 
a  cab,  having  been  deterred  only  by  the 
growing  darkness,  and  not  by  the  snow. 
So  chatting  merrily,  away  we  went, 
245 


THE   STORY  OP 

through  the  elfin  flakes  which  seemed  so 
eager  to  kiss  your  cheeks,  till  your  home 
was  reached. 

"  If  we  come  in,  will  you  give  us  some 
tea  ? "  asked  Agnes. 

"Tea,  cake,  chocolates,  and  conversa 
tion,"  you  promised. 

"I  am  sorry,"  I  said,  "but  I  cannot 
spare  the  time." 

I  thought  you  and  Agnes  exchanged 
glances.  "  Please,  Doc —  "  she  began  ; 
but  you  interrupted  her  by  saying  proudly, 
"We  must  not  take  any  more  of  Dr. 
Hartzmann's  time,  Agnes.  Will  you 
come  in  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Agnes.  "  I  '11  go  home 
before  it 's  any  darker.  Good-night." 

I  started  to  walk  with  her  the  short 
distance,  but  the  moment  we  were  out  of 
hearing  she  turned  towards  me  and  cried, 
"  I  hate  you  !  "  As  I  made  no  reply,  she 
demanded  impatiently,  "  What  makes  you 
behave  so  abominably  ?  "  When  I  was 
still  silent  she  continued :  "  I  told  you 
246 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

how  Maizie  felt,  and  I  thought  it  was  all 
right,  and  now  you  do  it  again.  It 's  too 
bad !  Well,  can't  you  say  something  ? 
Why  do  you  do  it  ? " 

"  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  say,  Miss 
Blodgett,"  I  responded  sadly. 

"You  might  at  least  do  it  to  please 
me,"  she  persisted,  "even  if  you  don't  like 
Maizie." 

I  made  no  answer,  and  we  walked  the 
rest  of  the  distance  in  silence.  At  the 
stoop,  however,  Agnes  asked,  "  Will  you 
go  with  me  to  call  on  Maizie,  some  after 
noon  ? " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Not  even  to  please  mamma  and  me  ?" 
she  questioned. 

Again  I  gave  the  same  answer,  and 
without  a  word  of  parting  she  left  me 
and  passed  through  the  doorway.  From 
that  time  she  has  treated  me  coldly. 

Another  complication  only  tended  to 
increase  the  coldness,  as  well  as  to  involve 
me  with  Mrs.  Blodgett.  In  December, 
247 


THE    STORY    OF 

Mr.  Blodgett  came  into  Mr.  Whitely's 
office  and  announced,  "  I  've  been  taking 
a  liberty  with  your  name,  doctor." 

"  For  what  kindness  am  I  indebted 
now  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  'm  a  member  of  the  Philomathean," 
he  said,  —  "  not  because  I  'm  an  author, 
or  artist,  or  engineer,  or  scientist,  but  be 
cause  I  'm  a  big  frog  in  my  own  puddle, 
and  they  want  samples  of  us,  provided 
we  are  good  fellows,  just  to  see  what 
we  're  like.  I  was  talking  with  Professor 
Eaton  in  September,  and  we  agreed  you 
ought  to  be  one  of  us  ;  so  we  stuck  your 
name  up,  and  Saturday  evening  the  club 
elected  you." 

"  I  can't  afford  it "  —  I  began ;  but  he 
interrupted  with :  — 

"  I  knew  you  'd  say  that,  and  so  did  n't 
tell  you  beforehand.  I  '11  bet  you  your 
initiation  fee  and  a  year's  dues  against  a 
share  of  R.  T.  common  that  you  '11  make 
enough  out  of  your  membership  to  pay 
you  five  times  over." 
248 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  How  can  I  do  that  ? " 

"All  the  editors  and  publishers  are 
members,"  he  replied,  "and  to  meet 
them  over  the  rum  punch  we  serve  on 
meeting  nights  is  worth  money  to  the 
most  celebrated  author  living.  Then 
you  '11  have  the  best  club  library  in  this 
country  at  your  elbow  for  working  pur 
poses." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought,  Mr.  Blodgett.* 

He  was  about  to  protest,  when  Mr. 
Whitely  broke  in  upon  us,  saying,  "Ac 
cept  your  membership,  Dr.  Hartzmann, 
and  the  paper  shall  pay  your  initiation 
and  dues." 

I  do  not  know  whether  Mr.  Blodgett 
or  myself  was  the  more  surprised  at  this 
unexpected  and  liberal  offer.  Our  amaze 
ment  was  so  obvious  that  Mr.  Whitely 
continued  :  "  I  think  it  '11  be  an  excellent 
idea  for  the  paper  to  have  a  member  of 
its  staff  in  the  Philomathean,  and  so  the 
office  shall  pay  for  it." 

"Whitely,"  observed  Mr.  Blodgett  ad- 
249 


THE    STORY    OF 

miringly,  "you're  a  good  business  man, 
whatever  else  you  are  !  " 

"I  wish,  Blodgett,"  inquired  Mr. 
Whitely,  "  you  would  tell  me  why  I  have 
been  kept  waiting  so  long  ?  " 

"  Many  a  name  's  been  up  longer  than 
yours,"  replied  Mr.  Blodgett  in  a  com 
forting  voice.  "  You  don't  seem  to  real 
ize  that  the  Philomathean  's  a  pretty  stiff 
club  to  get  into." 

"  But  I  've  been  posted  for  over  three 
years,  while  here  Dr.  Hartzmann  is  elected 
within  four  months  of  his  proposing." 

"  Well,  the  doctor  has  the  great  advan 
tage  of  being  a  sort  of  natural  Philomath, 
you  see,"  Mr.  Blodgett  explained  genially. 
"He  was  born  that  way,  and  so  is  ripe 
for  membership  without  any  closet  mel 
lowing." 

"  But  my  reputation  as  a  writer  is 
greater  than  Dr."  —  began  Mr.  Whitely ; 
but  a  laugh  from  Mr.  Blodgett  made  him 
halt. 

"  Oh  come,  now,  Whitely !  " 
250 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"What 's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  my  em 
ployer. 

"  Once  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  stopped 
at  a  tavern  to  quench  their  thirst,"  said 
Mr.  Blodgett,  "  and  when  the  time  came 
to  pay,  they  tossed  dice  for  it.  Paul 
threw  double  sixes,  and  smiled.  Peter 
smiled  back,  and  threw  double  sevens. 
What  do  you  suppose  Paul  said,  White- 
ly?" 

"What?" 

" '  Oh,  Peter,  Peter !  No  miracles  be 
tween  friends.'  ' 

"I  don't  follow  you,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Whitely. 

Mr.  Blodgett  turned  and  said  to  me, 
"  I  'm  going  West  for  two  months,  and 
while  I  'm  gone  the  Twelfth-night  revel 
at  the  Philomathean  is  to  come  off.  Will 
you  see  that  the  boss  and  Agnes  get 
cards?"  Then  he  faced  about  and  re 
marked,  "  Whitely,  I  'd  give  a  big  gold 
certificate  to  know  what  nerve  food  you 
use !  "  and  went  out,  laughing. 
251 


THE    STORY    OF 

When  I  took  the  invitations  to  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  I  found  you  all  with  your  heads 
full  of  a  benefit  for  the  Guild,  to  be  given 
at  your  home,  —  a  musical  evening,  with 
several  well-known  stars  as  magnets,  and 
admission  by  invitation  as  an  additional 
attraction.  Mrs.  Blodgett  said  to  me  in 
her  decisive  way,  "Dr.  Hartzmann,  the 
invitations  are  five  dollars  each,  and  you 
are  to  take  one." 

I  half  suspected  that  it  was  only  a  de 
vice  to  get  me  within  your  doors,  though 
every  society  woman  feels  at  liberty  to 
whitemail  her  social  circle  to  an  unlimited 
degree.  But  the  fact  that  the  entertain 
ment  was  to  be  in  your  home,  even  more 
than  my  poverty,  compelled  me  to  refuse 
to  be  a  victim  of  her  charitable  kindness 
or  her  charitable  greed.  I  merely  shook 
my  head. 

"Oh,  but  you  must,"  she  urged.  "It 
will  be  a  delightful  evening,  and  then  it 's 
such  a  fine  object." 

"  Do  not  ask  it  of  Dr.  Hartzmann," 
252 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

you  protested,  coming  to  my  aid.  "No 
one"  — 

"  I  'm  sure  it 's  very  little  to  ask,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Blodgett,  in  a  disappointed 
way. 

"  Mrs.  Blodgett,"  I  said,  in  desperation, 
"for  years  I  have  denied  myself  every 
luxury  and  almost  every  comfort.  I  have 
lived  at  the  cheapest  of  boarding-houses  ; 
I  have  walked  down-town,  rain  or  shine, 
to  save  ten  cents  a  day ;  I  have  "  —  I 
stopped  there,  ashamed  of  my  outbreak. 

"  I  suppose,  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  retorted 
Agnes,  with  no  attempt  to  conceal  the 
irritation  she  felt  toward  me,  "that  the 
Philomathean  is  one  of  your  ten-cent 
economies  ? " 

Before  I  could  speak  you  changed  the 
subject,  and  the  matter  was  dropped,  —  I 
hoped  for  all  time.  It  was,  however,  to 
reappear,  and  to  make  my  position  more 
difficult  and  painful  than  ever. 

At  Mrs.  Blodgett's  request,  made  that 
very  day,  I  sent  you  an  invitation  to  the 
253 


THE   STORY   OF 

Philomathean  ladies'  day.  It  was  with 
no  hope  of  being  there  myself,  since  my 
editorial  duties  covered  the  hours  of  the 
exhibition  ;  but  good  or  bad  fortune  aided 
me,  for  Mr.  Whitely  asked  me  for  a 
ticket,  and  his  absence  from  the  office 
set  me  free.  The  crowd  was  great,  but, 
like  most  people  who  try  for  one  thing 
only,  I  attained  my  desire  by  quickly 
finding  you,  and  we  spent  an  enjoyable 
hour  together,  studying  the  delicious 
jokes  and  pranks  of  our  artist  members. 
The  truly  marvelous  admixture  of  ab 
surdity  and  cleverness  called  out  the  real 
mirth  of  your  nature,  and  our  happiness 
and  gayety  over  the  pictures  strangely 
recalled  to  me  our  similar  days  spent  in 
Paris  and  elsewhere.  You  too,  I  think, 
remembered  the  same  experience,  for 
when  we  had  finished,  and  were  ascend 
ing  the  stairs  to  the  dining-room,  you 
remarked  to  me,  "  I  never  dreamed  that 
one  could  be  so  merry  after  one  had 
ceased  to  be  a  child.  For  the  last  hour 
254 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

I  have  felt  as  if  teens  were  yet  unven- 
tured  lands." 

I  confess  I  sought  a  secluded  spot  in 
an  alcove,  hoping  still  to  keep  you  to  my 
self;  but  the  project  failed,  for  when  I 
returned  from  getting  you  an  ice,  I  found 
that  Mr.  Whitely  had  joined  you.  The 
pictures,  of  course,  were  the  subject  of 
discussion,  and  you  asked  him,  "  Are  all 
the  other  members  as  clever  in  their  own 
professions  as  your  artists  have  shown 
themselves  to  be  ?  " 

"  The  Philomathean  is  made  up  of  an 
able  body  of  men,"  replied  Mr.  Whitely 
in  a  delightfully  patronizing  tone.  "  Some 
few  of  the  very  ablest,  perhaps,  do  not 
care  to  be  members  ;  but  of  the  second 
rank,  you  may  say,  broadly  speaking,  that 
it  includes  all  men  of  prominence  in  this 
city." 

"  But  why  should  the  abler  men  not 
belong  ? " 

"  They  are  too  occupied  with  more 
vital  matters,"  explained  my  employer. 


THE    STORY    OF 

"Yet  surely  they  must  need  a  club, 
and  what  one  so  appropriate  as  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  natural  to  reason  so,"  assented 
the  would-be  member.  "  But  as  an  ac 
tual  fact,  some  of  the  most  prominent 
men  in  this  city  are  not  members,"  and 
he  mentioned  three  well-known  names. 

The  inference  was  so  unjust  that  I 
observed,  "  Should  you  not  add,  Mr. 
Whitely,  that  they  are  not  members 
either  because  they  know  it  is  useless  to 
apply,  or  because  they  have  applied  in 
vain ;  and  that  their  exclusion,  though  su 
perficially  a  small  affair,  probably  means 
to  them,  by  the  implication  it  carries, 
one  of  the  keenest  mortifications  of  their 
lives  ? " 

"  You  mean  that  the  Philomathean  re 
fuses  to  admit  such  men  as  Mr.  Whitely 
named  ?  "  you  asked  incredulously. 

I   smiled.       "The   worldly   reputation 

and  the  professional  reputation  of  men 

occasionally    differ    very    greatly,    Miss 

Walton.     We  do  not  accept  a  man  here 

256 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

because  his  name  appears  often  in  the 
newspapers,  but  because  of  what  the 
men  of  his  own  calling  know  and  think 
of  him." 

"And  of  course  they  are  always  jeal 
ous  of  a  man  who  has  surpassed  them," 
contended  Mr.  Whitely. 

"  There  must  be  something  more 
against  a  man  than  envy  of  his  confreres 
to  exclude  him,"  I  answered.  "  My  loy 
alty  to  the  Philomathean,  Miss  Walton, 
is  due  to  the  influence  it  exerts  in  this 
very  matter.  Errors  are  possible,  but 
the  intention  is  that  no  man  shall  be  of 
our  brotherhood  who  is  not  honestly  do 
ing  something  worth  the  doing,  for  other 
reasons  than  mere  money-making.  And 
for  that  very  reason,  we  are  supposed, 
within  these  walls,  to  be  friends,  whether 
or  not  there  is  acquaintance  outside  of 
them.  We  are  the  one  club  in  New  York 
which  dares  to  trust  its  membership  list 
implicitly  to  that  extent.  Charlatanry 
and  dishonesty  may  succeed  with  the 
257 


THE   STORY    OF 

world,  but  here  they  fail.  Money  will 
buy  much,  but  the  poorest  man  stands 
on  a  par  here  with  the  wealthiest." 

"  You  make  me  envious  of  you  both," 
you  sighed,  just  as  Mrs.  Blodgett  and 
Agnes  joined  us. 

"What  are  you  envying  them  ?  "  asked 
Agnes,  as  she  shook  hands  with  you, 
—  "  that  they  were  monopolizing  you  ? 
How  selfish  men  are  !  " 

"  In  monopolizing  this  club  ? " 

"  Was  that  what  you  envied  them  ?  " 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Blodgett.  "  I  for  one 
am  glad  there 's  a  place  to  which  I  can't 
go,  where  I  can  send  my  husband  when 
I  want  to  be  rid  of  him."  Then  she 
turned  to  Mr.  Whitely,  and  with  her 
usual  directness  remarked,  "  So  they  've 
let  you  in  ?  Mr.  Blodgett  told  me  you 
would  surely  be  rejected." 

Mr.  Whitely  reddened  and  bit  his  lip, 

for  which  he  is  hardly  to  be  blamed.    But 

he  only  bowed  slightly  in  reply,  leaving 

the  inference  in  your  minds  that  he  was 

258 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

a  Philomath.     How   the   man   dares  so 
often  to  — 

The  striking  clock  tells  me  it  is  later 
than  I  thought,  and  I  must  stop. 

Good-night,  dear  heart. 
259 


THE   STORY    OF 


XXI 

March  12.  Our  talk  at  the  Philoma- 
thean  and  Mr.  Whitely's  tacit  assump 
tion  of  membership  had  their  penalty  for 
me,  —  a  penalty  which,  to  reverse  the 
old  adage,  I  first  thought  an  undisguised 
blessing.  When  we  separated,  he  asked 
me  to  dinner  the  following  evening,  to 
fill  in  a  place  unexpectedly  left  vacant ; 
and  as  I  knew,  from  a  chance  allusion, 
that  you  were  to  be  there,  I  accepted  a 
courtesy  at  his  hands. 

Although  there  were  several  celebri 
ties  at  the  meal,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  sit  on 
your  right ;  my  host,  who  took  you  down, 
evidently  preferring  to  have  no  danger 
ous  rival  in  your  attention.  But  Mrs. 
Blodgett,  who  sat  on  his  other  side,  en 
gaged  him  as  much  as  she  chose,  and 
thus  gave  me  more  of  your  time  than  I 
260 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

should  otherwise  have  had.  If  you  knew 
how  happy  it  made  me  that,  whenever 
she  interrupted  his  monopoly  of  you,  in 
stead  of  making  a  trialogue  with  them, 
you  never  failed  to  turn  to  me ! 

"I  have  just  re-read  Mr.  Whitely's 
book,"  you  remarked,  in  one  of  these  in 
terruptions,  "and  I  have  been  trying  to 
express  to  him  my  genuine  admiration 
for  it.  I  thought  of  it  highly  when  first 
I  read  it,  last  autumn,  but  on  a  second 
reading  I  have  become  really  an  enthu 
siast." 

I  suppose  my  face  must  have  shown 
some  of  the  joy  your  words  gave  me,  for 
you  continued,  "  Clearly,  you  like  it  too, 
and  are  pleased  to  hear  it  praised.  But 
then  it's  notorious  that  writers  are  jeal 
ous  of  one  another !  Tell  me  what  you 
think  of  it  ?  " 

I  tried  to  keep  all  bitterness  out  of  my 
voice  as  I  laughed.  "  Think  how  un 
professional  it  would  be  in  me  to  discuss 
my  employer's  book  :  if  I  praised  it,  how 
261 


THE    STORY    OF 

necessary ;  if  I  disparaged  it,  how  dis 
loyal  !  " 

"You  are  as  unsatisfactory  as  Mr. 
Whitely,"  you  complained.  "  I  can't  get 
him  to  speak  about  it,  either.  He  smiles 
and  bows  his  head  to  my  praise,  but  not 
a  word  can  he  be  made  to  say.  Evidently 
he  has  a  form  of  modesty  —  not  stage 
fright,  but  book  fright  —  that  I  never  be 
fore  encountered.  Every  other  author 
I  have  met  was  fatiguingly  anxious  to 
talk  about  his  own  writings." 

"  Remember  in  our  behalf  that  a  book 
stands  very  much  in  the  same  relation  to 
a  writer  that  a  baby  does  to  its  mother. 
We  are  tolerant  of  her  admiration ;  be 
equally  lenient  to  the  author's  harmless 
prattle." 

"  I  suppose,  too,"  you  went  on,  "  that 
the  historian  is  less  liable  to  the  disease, 
because  his  work  is  so  much  less  his  own 
flesh  and  blood ;  so  much  less  emotional 
than  that  of  the  poet  or  novelist." 

"  No  book  worth  reading  ever  fails  to 
262 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

be  steeped  with  the  spirit  of  the  person 
who  wrote  it.  The  man  on  the  stage  is 
instinct  with  emotion  and  feeling,  but 
does  he  express  more  of  his  true  individ 
uality  than  the  man  in  real  life?  The 
historian  puts  fewer  of  his  own  feelings 
into  his  work,  but  he  plays  far  less  to  the 
gallery,  and  so  is  more  truthful  in  what 
he  reveals  of  himself." 

"  Your  simile  reminds  me  of  a  thought 
of  my  own,  after  my  first  reading  of  this 
book  :  that  the  novelist  is  the  demagogue 
of  letters,  striving  to  please,  and  suing 
for  public  favor  by  catering  to  all  its 
whims  and  weaknesses  ;  but  the  historian 
is  the  aristocrat  of  literature,  knowing 
the  right,  and  proudly  above  taking  heed 
of  popular  prejudice  or  moods.  I  liked 
Mr.  Whitely's  book  for  many  things,  but 
most  of  all  for  its  fearless  attitude  to 
wards  whatever  it  torched  upon.  I  felt 
that  it  was  the  truth,  because  the  whole 
atmosphere  told  me  that  a  man  was  writ 
ing,  too  brave  to  tell  what  was  untrue. 
263 


THE    STORY    OF 

That  evidently  pleases  you,  again,"  you 
laughed.  "  Oh,  it  is  horrible  to  see  this 
consuming  jealousy ! " 

When  the  ladies  withdrew,  the  men,  as 
usual,  clustered  at  one  end  of  the  table  ; 
but  my  host  beckoned  me  to  join  him, 
and  sat  down  apart  from  his  guests. 

"Dr.  Hartzmann,  what  is  the  matter 
at  the  Philomathean  ?  "  he  demanded,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Matter  ? "  I  questioned. 

"  Yes.  What  is  the  reason  they  don't 
elect  me  ? " 

"I  am  not  on  the  membership  com 
mittee,  Mr.  Whitely,"  I  replied. 

"  Are  you  popular  up  there  ?  Mr. 
Blodgett  said  that  you  were." 

"I  have  some  good  friends,"  I  an 
swered. 

"  Then  electioneer  and  get  me  put  in," 
he  explained,  revealing  to  me  in  a  flash 
why  he  had  volunteered  that  the  paper 
should  pay  the  expenses  of  my  member 
ship. 

264 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  am  hardly  in  a  position  to  do  that" 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  am  a  new  member,  and  my  position 
under  you  is  so  well  known  that  it  would 
be  very  indelicate  in  me  to  appear  in  the 
matter." 

"For  what  do  you  suppose  I  helped 
you,  then  ? "  he  asked  severely. 

"  I  did  not  understand  till  now." 

"  Well,  then,  drop  your  talk  about  deli 
cacy,  and  get  your  friends  to  elect  me." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  can  do  that,"  I  an 
swered  mildly. 

"  Then  you  won't  earn  your  pay  ? " 

"  Mr.  Whitely,  when  you  made  the 
offer,  you  put  it  on  an  entirely  different 
ground,  and  it  is  unfair  to  claim  that  it 
involved  any  condition  that  was  not  then 
expressed." 

"  But  you  ought  to  be  willing  to  do  it. 
Have  n't  you  any  gratitude  about  you  ? " 

"  I  understood  that  you  wanted  one  of 
your  staff  a  member  of  that  club.  Had 
you  mentioned  your  present  motive,  I 
265 


THE    STORY    OF 

should  certainly  have  refused  to  accept 
the  offer ;  and  under  these  circumstances 
I  decline  to  recognize  any  cause  for  grat 
itude." 

"  What  is  your  objection  to  doing  it, 
though  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Whitely,  I  do  not  think 
I  am  called  upon  to  say  more  than  I 
have  said." 

"  Do  you  want  me  in  the  club  or  not  ? M 
he  demanded. 

"I  shall  certainly  never  oppose  your 
election  in  any  way  whatsoever." 

"  But  you  will  not  work  for  me  ?  " 

"No." 

"Are  you  waiting  to  see  how  much 
I'll  give?" 

My  hand  trembled  at  the  insult,  but  I 
made  no  reply. 

"  Come,"  he  continued,  "  are  you 
standing  out  in  hopes  I  will  offer  you 
something  ? " 

"No." 

"  How  much  ? "  he  asked. 
266 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  have  been  elected  to  the  Philoma- 
thean,  Mr.  Whitely,"  I  said,  concluding 
that  an  explanation  might  be  the  easiest 
escape,  after  all,  "  and  to  it  I  owe  a  dis 
tinct  duty.  If  you  were  not  my  em 
ployer,  I  should  feel  called  upon  to  work 
against  you." 

"Why  ? "  he  exclaimed,  in  surprise. 

"  Is  it  necessary  to  say  ? "  I  answered. 

"  Yes.  What  is  your  objection  to 
me  ? " 

"Did  you  never  read  ^Esop's  fable  of 
the  jackdaw  ? "  I  asked. 

"  That 's  it,  is  it  ?  And  you  are  oppos 
ing  my  election  ? " 

"  By  not  the  slightest  act." 

"Then  why  did  Blodgett  predict  that 
I  would  surely  be  rejected  ?  I  've  a  rep 
utation  as  a  writer,  as  a  philanthropist, 
and  as  a  successful  business  man.  What 
more  do  they  want  ? " 

"As  I  told  Miss  Walton  yesterday," 
I  explained,  "  a  man's  true  and  eventual 
reputation  depends,  not  on  what  the 
267 


THE   STORY    OF 

world   thinks  of   him,  but  on  what   his 
fellow-craft  decide." 

"Well?" 

"  There  is  scarcely  an  author  or  editor 
at  the  Philomathean  who  is  not  opposed 
to  your  election,  Mr.  Whitely." 

"You  have  been  telling  tales,"  he  mut 
tered  angrily. 

"  You  should  know  better." 

"Then  what  have  they  against  me  ?  " 

"Any  man  who  works  with  his  pen 
learns  that  no  one  can  write  either  edi 
torials  or  books,  of  the  kind  credited  to 
you,  without  years  of  training.  The  most 
embarrassing  ordeal  I  have  to  undergo  is 
the  joking  and  questioning  with  which 
the  fraternity  tease  me.  But  you  need 
never  fear  my  not  keeping  faith." 

"  Yet  you  won't  help  me  into  the 
Philomathean  ? " 

"No." 

"  So  you  '11  make  money  out  of  me, 
but  think  your  club  too  good  ? " 

"I  owe  my  club  a  duty." 
268 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  know,"  he  went  on  smoothly, 
"  that  you  're  an  awful  screw,  when 
there 's  a  dollar  in  sight.  How  much  do 
you  want  ? " 

My  silence  should  have  warned  him, 
but  he  was  too  self-absorbed  to  feel  any 
thing  but  his  own  mood. 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ? "  he  re 
peated,  and  I  still  sat  without  speaking, 
though  the  room  blurred,  and  I  felt  as  if 
I  were  stifling.  "  The  day  I  'm  elected 
to  the  Philomathean,  I  '11  give  you  "  — 

I  rose  and  interrupted  him,  saying, 
"Mr.  Whitely,  if  you  wish  me  to  leave 
your  house  and  employment,  you  can  ob 
tain  my  absence  in  an  easier  way  than  by 
insulting  me." 

For  a  moment  we  faced  each  other  in 
silence,  and  then  he  rose.  "Hereafter, 
Dr.  Hartzmann,  you  will  pay  those  dues 
yourself,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
moved  towards  the  door. 

I  only  bowed,  glad  that  the  matter 
was  so  easily  ended  ;  and  for  nearly  two 
269 


THE    STORY    OF 

months  our  relations  have  been  of  the 
most  formal  kind  that  can  exist  between 
employer  and  employed. 

Far  more  bitter  was  another  break. 
When  the  moment  of  farewell  came,  that 
evening,  I  waited  to  put  you  and  Mrs. 
Blodgett  into  your  carriages,  and  while 
we  were  delayed  in  the  vestibule  you 
thanked  me  again  for  the  pleasure  of  the 
previous  afternoon,  and  then  continued  : 
"  I  understand  why  you  did  not  feel  able 
to  please  Mrs.  Blodgett  about  the  con 
cert.  But  won't  you  let  me  acknowledge 
the  pleasure  of  yesterday  by  sending  you 
a  ticket  ?  I  have  taken  a  number,  and 
as  all  my  circle  have  done  the  same,  I 
am  finding  it  rather  difficult  to  get  rid 
of  them." 

"That's  all  right,  Maizie,"  interjected 
Mrs.  Blodgett,  who  had  caught,  or  in 
ferred  from  an  occasional  word  that  she 
heard,  what  you  were  saying.  "  We  took 
an  extra  ticket,  and  I  am  going  to  use 
the  doctor  for  an  escort  that  evening." 
270 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  I  thank  you  both,"  I  answered,  "  but 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  attend  the  concert." 

"  Nonsense !  "  sniffed  Mrs.  Blodgett,  as 
I  helped  her  into  her  carriage.  "  You  're 
going  to  do  as  I  tell  you." 

You  did  not  speak  in  the  moment  we 
waited  for  your  coupe1  to  take  its  place, 
but  as  the  tiger  opened  the  door  you 
looked  in  my  face  for  the  first  time  since 
my  words,  showing  me  eyes  that  told  of 
the  pain  I  had  inflicted. 

"I  am  sorry,"  you  said  quietly.  "I 
had  thought  —  hoped  —  that  we  were  to 
be  friends." 

There  was  nothing  for  me  to  say,  and 
we  parted  thus.  From  that  time  I  have 
seen  little  of  you,  for  when  I  meet  you 
now  you  no  longer  make  it  possible  for 
me  to  have  much  of  your  society.  And 
my  persistent  refusal  to  go  to  the  concert 
with  Mrs.  Blodgett  and  Agnes  increased 
their  irritation  against  me,  so  that  I  am 
no  longer  asked  to  their  home,  and  thus 
have  lost  my  most  frequent  opportunity 
271 


THE   STORY   OP 

of  meeting  you.  But  harder  even  than 
this  deprivation  is  the  thought  that  I 
have  given  you  pain ;  made  all  the 
greater,  perhaps,  because  so  ill  deserved 
and  apparently  unreasonable.  I  find  my 
self  longing  for  the  hour  when  we  shall 
meet  at  that  far-away  tribunal,  where  all 
our  lives,  and  not  alone  that  which  is 
seen,  will  stand  revealed.  For  two 
months  I  have  not  had  a  single  moment 
of  happiness  or  even  hope.  '  I  am  lonely 
and  weary,  while  my  strength  and  cour 
age  seem  to  lessen  day  by  day.  Oh,  my 
darling,  I  pray  God  that  thought  of  you 
will  make  me  stronger  and  braver,  that  I 
may  go  on  with  my  fight.  Good-night 
272 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 


XXII 

March  13.  Last  night,  at  the  Philo- 
mathean,  Mr.  Blodgett  joined  me,  and 
asked  me  why  I  had  not  dined  with  them 
lately.  He  returned  only  a  few  days  ago, 
and  was  thus  ignorant  that  I  have  not 
been  inside  his  door  for  weeks.  I  hesi 
tated  for  an  instant,  and  then  replied,  "  I 
have  been  working  very  hard." 

"  What  are  you  usually  doing  ? "  he 
asked,  smiling.  "Come  in  to  Sunday 
dinner  to-morrow." 

"  I  shall  be  too  busy  with  a  lot  of  man 
uscripts  I  have  on  hand,  that  must  be 
read,"  I  told  him. 

"  Stop  killing  yourself,"  he  ordered. 
"  As  it  is,  you  look  as  if  you  were  on  the 
brink  of  a  bad  illness.  You  won't  get  on 
a  bit  faster  by  dying  young." 

There  the  matter  rested,  and  1  did  not 
273 


THE    STORY    OF 

go  to  dinner  to-day,  being  indeed  glad  to 
stay  indoors  ;  for  I  very  foolishly  walked 
up  town  yesterday  through  the  slush, 
and  caught  a  bad  cold.  While  I  was  try 
ing  to  keep  warm,  this  evening,  a  note 
was  brought  me  from  Mr.  Blodgett,  ask 
ing  me  to  come  to  him  at  once ;  and  fear 
ing  something  important,  I  braved  the 
cold  without  delay,  ill  though  I  felt.  I 
was  shown  at  once  into  his  den,  which 
was  so  cheerful  with  its  open  fire  that  I 
felt  it  was  a  good  exchange  for  my  cold 
room,  where  I  had  sat  coughing  and  shiv 
ering  all  the  afternoon. 

"  Twice  in  my  life  I  Ve  really  lost  my 
temper  with  the  boss,"  he  began,  before 
I  had  even  sat  down,  though  he  closed 
the  door  while  speaking.  "  Never  mind 
about  the  first  time,  but  to-day  I  got 
mad  enough  to  last  me  for  the  rest  of  my 
life." 

"  May  I  sit  down  ? "  I  interrupted. 

He  nodded  his  head,  and  took  a  po 
sition  in  front  of  me,  with  his  back  to 
274 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

the  fire,  as  he  continued :  "  Women  are 
enough  to  make  a  man  frantic  when  they 
get  a  fixed  idea  !  Now,  to-day,  at  dinner, 
I  said  I  'd  invited  you,  and  I  saw  in  a 
moment  something  was  in  the  wind ;  so 
when  we  had  finished  I  told  them  to 
come  in  here,  and  it  did  n't  take  me  long 
to  find  out  the  trouble." 

"I  did  n't  like  to"  —I  began ;  but  he 
went  on :  — 

"  And  that  was  the  beginning  of  their 
trouble.  I  tell  you,  there  was  Cain  here 
for  about  ten  minutes,  and  there  were  n't 
two  worse  scared  women  this  side  of  the 
grave,  while  I  was  ranting  ;  for  the  boss 
remembered  the  other  time,  and  Agnes 
had  never  seen  me  break  loose.  I  told 
them  they  'd  done  their  best  to  drive  you 
crazy  with  grief ;  that  if  they  'd  searched 
for  ten  years  they  couldn't  have  found 
a  meaner  or  crueler  thing,  or  one  that 
would  have  hurt  you  more ;  that  nine 
men  out  of  ten,  in  your  shoes,  would 
have  acted  dishonestly  or  cut  their  throat, 
275 


THE    STORY   OF 

but  that  you  had  toed  the  chalk-line  right 
along,  and  never  once  winced.  And  I  let 
them  know  that  for  five  dollars  they'd 
added  the  last  straw  of  pain  to  a  fellow 
who  deserved  only  kindness  and  help 
from  them." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Blodgett "  —  I  protested. 

"  Hold  on.  Don't  attempt  to  stop  me, 
for  the  fit's  on  me  still,"  he  growled. 
"  They  tried  to  come  the  surprised,  and 
then  the  offended,  but  they  did  n't  fool 
me.  I  never  let  up  on  them  till  I  had 
said  all  I  wanted  to  say,  and  they  won't 
forget  it  for  a  day  or  two.  When  I  sent 
Agnes  upstairs,  she  was  sobbing  her  eyes 
out,  and  the  boss  would  have  given  her 
pin  money  for  ten  years  to  have  escaped 
with  her." 

"  It 's  too  bad  to  "  — 

"That's  just  what  it  was!"  he  cried. 
"To  think  of  those  screws  trying  to 
blackmail  you,  and  then  telling  me  you 
were  a  skinflint  because  you  would  n't  do 
what  they  wanted  !  Well,  after  Agnes 
276 


had  gone,  I  gave  the  boss  a  supplement 
ary  and  special  dose  of  her  own.  I  told 
her  she  could  double  discount  you  on 
meanness,  and  then  give  you  forty-nine 
points ;  and  to  make  sure  of  good  meas 
urement,  I  added  in  the  whole  female 
sex  along  with  her.  I  told  her  that  if 
she  knew  the  facts  of  your  life,  she  'd  get 
down  on  her  knees  and  crawl  round  to 
your  place  to  ask  your  pardon,  and  then 
she  wouldn't  be  fit  to  have  it.  I  told 
her  that  when  the  day  of  judgment  came, 
she  'd  just  go  the  other  way  in  preference 
to  hearing  what  the  recording  angel  had 
written  of  her." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  your  intended  kind 
ness  will  make  my  welcome  scantier  than 
ever." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  'm  the  master  of 
this  house,  as  they  found  out  this  after 
noon,  and  I  say  who  '11  come  into  it,  and 
who  '11  not.  I  shan't  need  to  interfere  in 
your  case,  for  you  '11  get  a  warm  welcome 
from  both," 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  You  did  n't  tell  them  ? "  I  exclaimed, 
starting  forward  in  my  seat. 

"  Not  a  word,  though  the  boss  nearly 
went  crazy  with  curiosity.  But  I  did  say 
that  you  were  making  a  splendid  up-hill 
fight,  and  if  they  knew  the  facts  of  the 
case  they  'd  be  proud  to  black  your  boots. 
My  word  goes  in  this  family  about  as 
well  as  it  does  on  the  Street,  and  you  '11 
get  all  the  welcome  you  can  stand  from 
now  on." 

"  You  make  me  very  proud  and  happy." 

"You  have  reason  to  be  proud,"  he 
asserted.  "  I  'm  not  a  man  who  slobbers 
much,  but  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  you.  When  you  first  came  here, 
I  sized  you  up  as  rather  a  softy,  your 
manner  was  so  quiet  and  gentle.  I  got 
over  that  delusion  precious  quick,  and  I 
want  to  say  that  for  pluck  and  grit  you  're 
a  trump,  and  there's  my  hand  on  it." 

He  went  to  the  table,  poured  out  a 
couple  of  glasses  of  whiskey  and  seltzer, 
and  brought  them  to  the  fire.  "You 
278 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

need  something  for  that  graveyard  cough 
of  yours,"  he  said,  handing  one  to  me. 
"Well,"  he  went  on,  "  I  did  n't  bring  you 
out  such  a  night  as  this  to  tell  you  of  my 
scrap  ;  but  after  the  row,  the  boss  was  so 
ashamed  of  herself  that  she  trumped  up 
an  A  i  excuse  (as  she  thought)  for  hav 
ing  treated  you  as  she  had,  and  that  led 
to  a  talk,  and  that 's  why  I  sent  round 
for  you.  What  do  you  suppose  she  has 
got  into  her  head  ?  " 

"I  can't  imagine." 

"  I  need  n't  tell  you,"  he  remarked, 
"that  women  always  know  an  awful  lot 
that  is  n't  so.  But  just  because  they  do, 
they  every  now  and  then  discover  a  truth 
that  can't  be  come  at  in  any  other  way. 
Now  the  boss  thinks  she 's  done  this,  and 
I  'm  not  sure  that  she  has  n't.  She  says 
you  are  in  love." 

"  I  never  knew  a  man  who  was  n't," 
I  replied,  trying  to  smile.  "  If  it  is  n't 
with  a  woman,  then  it 's  always  with  him 
self." 

279 


THE    STORY    OF 

"But  the  boss  thinks  she  knows  the 
girl,  and  has  a  down  on  you  because  you 
—  because  you  don't  try  for  her." 

I  laughed  bitterly,  and  said,  "You 
needed  no  explanation  for  that." 

"  That 's  what  made  the  boss's  idea 
reasonable  to  me,"  he  explained.  "She 
could  n't  conceive  why  you  should  keep 
silent,  and  so  was  ready  to  pitch  into 
you  on  the  slightest  pretense.  Women 
have  n't  much  use  for  a  man  who  falls  in 
love  and  does  n't  say  so.  But  of  course 
I  knew  that  your  debt  put  marriage  out 
of  the  question." 

I  merely  nodded  my  head,  for  even  to 
him  I  could  not  speak  of  my  love  for 
you,  it  was  so  sacred  to  me. 

He  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and 
continued  :  "  There  is  n't  another  man  to 
whom  I  'd  care  to  say  what  I  'm  going  to 
say  to  you,  but  you  've  got  a  heart  and  a 
head  both,  and  won't  misunderstand  me." 
He  finished  his  glass,  and  set  it  on  the 
mantel.  "  Now  I  don't  have  to  tell  you 
280 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

that  the  boss  is  fond  of  you,  and  when  I 
told  her  that  I  knew  of  a  reason  why  you 
;ould  n't  marry,  she  forgave  you  on  the 
spot.  What 's  more,  she  first  wished  to 
learn  what  it  was  ;  and  failing  in  that, 
she  then  wanted  to  know  if  it  could  be 
remedied,  so  that  you  might  have  a 
chance  to  win  the  girl." 

"  She  of  course  knows  nothing  of  my 
position  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  but  she  knows  some 
thing  of  your  character,  and  she 's  or 
dered  me  that,  if  it 's  possible,  I  'm  to 
help  you  get  the  girl  you  care  for." 

"  But  my  debt !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  How  much  is  it  now?  "  he  queried. 

"One  hundred  and  eighteen  thousand." 

"Well,  I'll  lend  Agnes's  husband  one 
hundred  and  eighteen  thousand  dollars  at 
three  per  cent,  and  leave  her  the  note 
when  I  die.  From  what  I  know  of  mar 
riage,  I  venture  to  assert  that  if  she 
squeezes  him  for  payment  it  will  be  his 
own  fault." 

281 


THE    STORY    OF 

I  sat  speechless  for  a  moment,  too  be 
wildered  by  the  unexpected  turn  to  even 
think. 

"  I  was  as  surprised  as  you  look,"  he 
went  on,  "  for  although  I  had  seen  that 
you  and  Agnes  "  — 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Blodgett,"  I  exclaimed 
hastily,  "I  am  no  more  to  Miss  Agnes 
than  a  dozen  of  her  friends  !  I  "  — 

"So  the  boss  says,"  he  interrupted. 
"  But  that  does  n't  mean  that  you  can't 
be.  Though  to  speak  the  truth,  my  boy," 
he  continued,  resting  his  hand  on  my 
knee,  "  this  was  n't  my  plan.  I  had 
hoped  that  you  and  Maizie  would  take 
a  shine  to  each  other,  and  so  kiss  the 
chalk -marks  off  that  old  score.  But 
when  I  spoke  of  the  scheme  to  the  boss, 
this  evening,  she  told  me  there  had  never 
been  a  chance  of  it  ;  that  you  did  n't  like 
Mai,  and  that  she  is  practically  engaged 
to  Whitely,  and  is  only —  Better  have 
some  more  whiskey,  or  that  cough  will 
shake  you  to  pieces." 
282 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

I  could  only  shake  my  head  in  my 
misery,  but  after  a  moment  I  was  able  to 
say,  "  Mr.  Blodgett,  I  did  not  understand 
—  I"  — 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  broke  in,  "  be 
fore  you  say  anything  more,  that  I  never 
believe  in  putting  one's  fingers  into  love 
affairs,  and  I  should  n't  in  this  case  if  the 
boss  did  n't  feel  so  keen  about  it,  but  I 
don't  choose  to  be  the  one  to  stand  in 
her  way.  And  now  I  'm  not  offering  my 
daughter's  hand.  You  know  as  well  as  I 
that  Agnes  isn't  the  kind  of  girl  who 
needs  a  prospectus  or  a  gold  clause  to 
work  her  off.  If  she  dropped  her  hand 
kerchief  to-morrow,  fifty  men  would  be 
scrambling  for  it,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes."  Then  I  added,  "And,  Mr. 
Blodgett,  I  can't  find  the  words  to  tell 
how  I  thank  you  both  for  such  a  compli 
ment.  If"  — 

"  I  knew  you  would  n't  misunderstand 
me,"  he  went  on.     "It's  a  good  deal  of 
a  start  in  life  to  be  born  a  gentleman." 
283 


THE    STORY    OF 

"But,  Mr.  Blodgett,"  I  said,  "there 
das  been  a  mistake.  I  —  it  is  hard  to 
«ay,  but  "  —  then  I  faltered. 

He  looked  at  me  keenly  for  a  moment. 
"  So  the  boss  was  wrong  ?  It 's  only 
friendship,  not  love  ? " 

"Just  what  she  has  given  to  me,"  I 
answered. 

"Very  well.  Then  if  you  want  to 
please  the  boss  —  and  me  —  let  that 
friendship  grow  into  something  better. 
But  don't  misunderstand  me.  You  must 
win  Agnes,  if  she  is  won.  We  do  no 
thing." 

"Mr.  Blodgett,  should  you  be  willing 
to  let  me  try  to  win  Miss  Agnes,  if  I  tell 
you  that  I  do  not  love  her  as  a  man 
should  love  the  woman  he  seeks  for  his 
wife?" 

"  Marriage  is  a  funny  business,"  he 
responded.  "  Now  there 's  the  boss. 
When  I  married  her  I  thought  she  was 
so  and  so ;  little  by  little  I  found  she 
was  n't  ;  but  by  the  time  I  had  found  it 
284 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

out  I  would  n't  have  swapped  her  for 
ten  of  the  women  I  had  thought  she  was. 
Some  men  have  no  business  to  marry 
unless  they're  pretty  strongly  attached, 
for  they  don't  run  steady  ;  but  you  're  a 
fellow  that  would  keep  in  the  traces  no 
matter  what  happened,  and  before  long 
you  'd  find  yourself  mighty  fond  of  Ag 
nes.  A  sense  of  duty  is  about  as  good  a 
basis  to  marry  on,  if  there  's  natural  sym 
pathy  and  liking,  as  all  this  ideal  make- 
believe.  I  don't  think  you  dislike  Agnes, 
do  you  ? " 

"  Indeed,  no  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Nobody 
could.  She  is  too  charming  and  sweet 
for  any  one  to  do  that.  Miss  Agnes 
deserves  far  more  than  I  can  bring  her. 
What  have  I  to  give  in  return  for  all 
this?" 

"  You  can  settle  that  with  Agnes,"  he 
laughed  ;  and  then,  as  if  to  lessen  my 
poverty  in  my  own  eyes,  he  kindly  added, 
"  In  the  first  place,  I  '11  get  a  son-in-law 
chock-full  of  heart  and  grit  and  brains ; 
285 


THE   STORY    OF 

and  I  Ve  had  pretty  good  evidence  that 
he  is  n't  fortune-hunting,  which  is  Ag 
nes' s  great  danger.  But  that  is  n't  all, 
and  I  want  you  to  know  I  'm  not  a  fool. 
I  'm  a  big  fellow  down  in  Wall  Street, 
and  even  on  the  Royal  Exchange,  but  do 
you  think  I  don't  know  my  position  ? 
They  kept  me  up  over  two  years  at  the 
Philomathean,  and  you  four  months. 
After  you  've  worked  ten  years  ovei 
books  with  your  own  name  on  themt 
you  '11  be  received  and  kotowed  to  by 
people  who  wouldn't  crook  a  finger  to 
know  me.  You  won't  be  famous  as  I 
am,  for  the  number  of  naughts  I  can 
write  after  a  figure,  but  your  name  will 
be  known  everywhere,  and  will  be  famil* 
iar  long  after  mine  has  been  forgotten. 
Who  were  the  bankers  and  rich  men  fifty 
years  ago  ?  There  is  n't  one  person  in  a 
thousand  can  tell  you.  But  who  has  n't 
heard  of  Thackeray  and  Hawthorne,  Ma- 
caulay  and  Motley?  My  girl  will  have 
more  money  than  she  '11  need ;  so  if  she 
286 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

gets  a  good  husband,  and  one  with  repu 
tation,  she  can't  do  better.  Don't  you 
see  I  'm  doing  my  level  best  for  Agnes, 
and  making  a  regular  Jew  bargain  ? " 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Agnes  will  not  agree." 

"  We  Ve  got  to  take  that  chance ;  but 
she  likes  you,  and  good  women  think  a 
heap  more  of  brains  than  they  do  of 
money.  If  you'll  let  me  tell  her  your 
story,  it  won't  be  long  before  she  '11  take 
notice.  I  should  n't  have  had  to  ask  the 
boss  twice  if  I  'd  had  any  such  trump 
card  as  you  've  got,  and  she  was  a  sight 
less  tender-hearted  than  Agnes !  " 

"Mr.  Blodgett,"  I  said,  "I  can't  tell 
you  the  gratitude  I  feel,  but  I  must  be 
frank." 

"  Hold  on  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  don't  want 
you  to  say  anything  now.  You  are  to 
take  a  week  on  it,  and  not  give  me  your 
answer  till  the  end.  If  you  have  half 
the  gratitude  in  you  that  you  pretend, 
you  '11  do  as  the  boss  wants." 

I  had  manned  myself  to  tell  him  of  my 
287 


THE   STORY  OF 

love  for  you,  but  I  bowed  assent,  fot 
indeed,  I  was  too  bewildered  to  think 
clearly,  and  was  glad  to  have  a  respite. 
We  shook  hands  without  further  parley, 
and  I  came  back  here,  to  cough  and 
shiver  while  trying  to  think  it  all  out. 
An  hour  ago  I  went  to  bed,  but  I  was 
wakeful,  and  so  sit  here  trying  to  write 
myself  into  sleepiness. 

I  have  thought  out  what  my  course 
must  be.  If  it  is  true,  as  indeed  I  know 
it  to  be,  that  Mr.  Whitely  has  won  you, 
Mr.  Blodgett  shall  have  the  truth.  1 
shall  tell  him  that  I  will  put  you  out  of 
my  heart,  as  perforce  I  must,  and  that  if 
he  is  still  willing  I  will  go  to  Agnes,  tell 
her  too  the  whole  truth,  and  promise  her 
such  love  and  devotion  as  I  can  give.  So 
sweet  a  girl  deserves  far  more,  and  I  can 
not  believe  that  she  will  accept  the  little 
I  can  offer;  but  if  she  does,  it  shall  be 
the  labor  of  my  life  to  be  to  her  a  true 
and  tender  husband.  And  even  if  she 
were  not  what  she  is,  the  thought  that 
•81 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

through  her  I  have  made  reparation  for 
the  wrong  done  you  will  make  easy  both 
tenderness  and  love  for  her. 

For  the  last  time,  perhaps,  I  have  the 
light  to  say,  "  Good-night,  my  love." 
289 


THE   STORY   OF 


XXIII. 

March  14.  After  dinner  this  evening 
I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Blodgett ;  for,  miser 
able  as  I  felt,  my  mental  suffering  was 
greater  than  my  physical.  The  footman 
told  me  she  had  just  gone  upstairs  to 
dress  for  a  ball,  but  I  sent  her  a  message 
begging  for  a  moment's  interview;  and 
when  he  returned,  it  was  to  take  me  to 
her  boudoir,  —  a  privilege  which  would 
in  itself  have  shown  me  how  thoroughly 
I  was  forgiven,  even  if  her  greeting  had 
been  less  warm. 

In  a  few  halting  and  broken  sentences 
I  told  her  of  my  love  for  you.  She  was 
so  amazed  that  at  first  she  seemed  un 
able  to  believe  me  serious  ;  and  when 
I  had  persuaded  her  that  I  was  in  ear 
nest,  her  perplexity  and  curiosity  were 
unbounded. 

290 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Why  had  I  behaved  so  ?  For  what 
reason  had  I  never  called  on  Maizie? 
Such  and  many  more  were  the  questions 
she  indignantly  poured  out,  and  she  only 
grew  more  angry  when  I  answered  each 
by  "  I  cannot  tell  you."  Finally,  in  her 
irritation,  she  demanded,  "  What  have 
you  bothered  me  for,  then  ?  " 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me,  if  you  have 
the  right,  whether  Miss  Walton  is  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  Whitely,"  I  answered. 

"  Practically,"  she  snapped. 

"  She  has  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  replied ;  add 
ing,  "  How  do  you  like  your  own  medi 
cine  ? " 

"Mrs.  Blodgett,"  I  pleaded,  "if  you 
understood  what  it  means  to  me  to  know 
the  truth,  you  would  not  use  this  to  pun 
ish  me  for  what  I  cannot  help.  If  I 
could  tell  any  one  the  story  of  my  life, 
I  should  tell  you  ;  for  next  to  —  to  one 
other,  you  are  dearer  to  me  than  any 
living  person.  If  you  love  me  at  all,  do 
291 


THE    STORY    OF 

not  torture  me  with  a  suspense  that  is 
unbearable." 

She  came  and  sat  down  by  me  on  the 
lounge,  and  took  my  hand,  saying,  "  Mr. 
Whitely  asked  Maizie  to  marry  him  four 
years  ago,  but  she  said  she  would  not 
marry  a  business  man.  He  would  n't 
give  up  trying,  however,  though  he  made 
no  apparent  headway.  Indeed,  Maizie 
told  me  herself,  last  spring,  just  before 
she  sailed,  that  she  could  never  love  him, 
and  she  was  convinced  that  loveless  mar 
riages  were  wrong,  being  sure  to  end  in 
unhappiness  or  sacrifice  of  one  or  the 
other.  So  I  thought  it  would  come  to 
nothing.  But  he  persisted,  and  he 's  suc 
ceeded,  for  she  told  me  last  week  that 
she  had  changed  her  mind,  and  was  go 
ing  to  marry  him." 

"  Do  you  know  why  she  has  done  so  ?  " 
I  asked  drearily. 

"  I  think  it  is  that  book  of  his.  Not 
merely  is  she  pleased  by  the  position  it 's 
given  him  as  a  writer,  but  she  says  it  has 
292 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

convinced  her  that  he  is  different  from 
what  he  appears  in  society ;  that  no  man 
but  one  of  noble  character  and  fine  mind 
could  write  from  such  a  standpoint." 

I  sat  there  dumb  and  stolid,  yet  know 
ing  that  all  my  past  suffering  had  been 
as  nothing  to  this  new  grief.  Oh,  my 
blindness  and  wickedness  !  To  think,  my 
darling,  that  it  was  I  who  had  aided  him 
to  win  you,  that  my  hand  had  made  and 
set  the  trap !  Why  had  I  not  ended  my 
wretched  existence  three  years  ago,  and 
so,  at  least,  saved  myself  from  this  sec 
ond  wrong,  tenfold  worse  than  that  I  had 
endeavored  to  mend  ?  For  my  own  self 
ish  pride  and  honor,  I  had  juggled,  de 
ceived  you,  Maizie,  the  woman  dearer  to 
me  than  all  else,  and  had  myself  doomed 
you  to  such  a  fate. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  shown  some  of 
the  agony  I  felt,  for  Mrs.  Blodgett  put 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  "  Don't  take 
it  so  to  heart,  Rudolph,"  she  begged, 
giving  me  that  name  for  the  first  time. 
293 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  There  can  still  be  much  true  happiness 
in  your  life." 

I  only  kissed  her  hand  in  response, 
but  she  instantly  pressed  her  lips  on  my 
forehead.  "  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  sighed, 
"  for  I  had  hoped  for  something  very  dif 
ferent." 

"  Mr.  Blodgett  told  me,"  I  answered  ; 
and  then  I  spoke  of  the  resolution  I  had 
come  to  last  night. 

When  I  had  finished,  she  said,  "We 
won't  talk  of  it  any  more,  Rudolph,  for 
Agnes'  sake  as  well  as  yours,  but  per 
haps  by  and  by,  when  the  suffering  is 
over,  you  will  come  and  talk  to  me  again  ; 
for  if  you  ever  feel  that  you  can  be  a 
good  husband  to  my  girl,  I  shall  not  be 
afraid  to  trust  her  to  you,  if  you  can  gain 
her  consent." 

I  rose  to  go,  and  she  remarked,  "  Yes. 
You  must  n't  stay,  for  as  it  is,  my  dress 
ing  will  make  us  very  late.  If  the  car 
riage  is  at  the  door,  tell  Maxwell  to  drive 
you  home,  and  then  return  for  us.  You 
294 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

must  n't  walk  in  the  slush  with  that  hor 
rid  cough  of  yours.  Does  your  landlady 
give  you  blankets  enough  ?  Well,  tell 
her  to  make  a  steaming  glass  of  whiskey 
toddy.  Wrap  some  woolen  round  your 
throat  and  chest,  and  go  straight  to  bed. 
Why,  Rudolph,  you  are  not  going  with 
out  kissing  me  good-night  ? "  she  contin 
ued,  as  if  that  had  been  my  habit,  add 
ing,  "  Some  day  I  shall  make  you  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

I  went  downstairs,  intending  to  follow 
her  directions  ;  but  as  I  passed  the  draw 
ing-room  door  I  heard  the  piano,  and 
thought  I  recognized,  from  the  touch, 
whose  fingers  were  straying  at  random 
over  the  keys. 

"Isn't  that  Miss  Walton?"  I  asked 
of  the  servant,  as  he  brought  me  my  hat 
and  coat. 

"Yes,  Dr.  Hartzmann.  Miss  Walton 
is  to  go  to  the  ball  with  the  ladies,  and  is 
waiting  for  them  to  come  downstairs." 
he  told  me. 

295 


THE    STORY    OF 

I  left  him  holding  my  coat,  and  passed 
noiselessly  between  the  curtains  of  the 
portiere.  Your  back  was  turned  to  me 
as  you  sat  at  the  instrument,  and  I  stood 
in  silence  watching  you  as  you  played, 
till  suddenly  —  was  it  sympathy,  or  only 
the  consciousness  of  something  alien  ?  — • 
you  looked  around.  I  should  almost  think 
it  was  the  former,  for  you  expressed  no 
surprise  at  seeing  me  standing  there,  even 
though  you  rose. 

"  Don't  let  me  interrupt  you,"  I  begged. 

"  I  was  only  beguiling  the  time  I  have 
to  wait,"  you  replied. 

"  It  will  be  a  favor  to  me  if  you  will 
go  on,"  I  said,  and  without  another  word, 
with  that  simple  grace  and  sweetness 
natural  to  you,  you  resumed  your  seat 
and  went  on  playing,  while  I  sat  down 
on  the  divan. 

Your   bent,  like   mine,  was  for  some 

reason  a  sad  one,  and  what  you  played 

reflected  your  mood,  stirring  me  deeply 

and  making  me  almost  forget  my  misery. 

296 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

Presently,  however,  I  was  seized  with  a 
paroxysm  of  coughing ;  and  when  I  had 
recovered  enough  to  be  conscious  of  any 
thing,  I  found  you  standing  by  me,  look 
ing  both  startled  and  compassionate. 

"  You  are  ill,  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you 
said,  anxiously. 

"It  is  nothing,"  I  managed  to  articu 
late. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? "  you 
asked. 

"  Nothing,"  I  replied,  rising,  more 
wretched  than  ever,  because  knowing 
how  little  I  deserved  your  sympathy. 

"  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  help  you, 
Dr.  Hartzmann,  for  I  have  never  been 
able  to  show  any  gratefulness  for  your 
kindness  over  my  book,"  you  went  on, 
with  a  touch  of  timidity  in  your  tones,  as 
if  you  were  asking  a  favor  rather  than 
conferring  one. 

Won  by  your  manner,  before  I  knew 
what  I  was  doing,  I  spoke.  "  Miss  Wal 
ton,"  I  burst  out,  "you  see  before  you 
297 


THE   STORY   OF 

the  most  miserable  being  conceivable,  and 
you  can  save  me  from  the  worst  anguish 
I  am  suffering  !  " 

Your  eyes  enlarged  in  surprise,  both 
at  my  vehemence  and  at  what  I  had  ut 
tered,  while  you  stood  looking  at  me, 
with  slightly  parted  lips  ;  then  you  said 
sweetly,  "Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for 
you." 

I  had  spoken  without  thought,  only 
conscious  that  I  must  try  in  some  way 
to  save  you.  For  a  moment  I  hesitated, 
and  then  exclaimed,  "  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
marry  Mr.  Whitely  !  " 

Like  a  goddess  you  drew  yourself  up, 
even  before  you  could  have  appreciated 
the  full  import  of  my  foolish  speech,  and 
never  have  I  seen  you  look  more  beau 
tiful  or  queenly  than  as  you  faced  me. 
After  a  brief  silence  you  answered,  "  You 
can  hardly  realize  what  you  are  saying, 
Dr.  Hartzmann." 

"  I  am  indeed  mad  in  my  unhappiaess," 
I  groaned. 

298 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  You  owe  me  an  explanation  for  your 
extraordinary  words,"  you  continued. 

"  Miss  Walton,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Whitely 
is  not  a  man  to  make  you  happy,  and  in 
hopes  of  saving  you  from  him  I  spoke  as 
I  did.  I  had  no  right,  as  none  can  know 
better  than  myself,  but  perhaps  you  will 
forgive  the  impertinence  when  I  say  that 
my  motive  was  only  to  save  you  from 
future  misery." 

"Why  should  I  not  be  happy  in  mar 
rying  Mr.  Whitely  ? " 

"  Because  you  are  deceiving  yourself 
about  him." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  His  character  is  other  than  you  think 
it." 

"Be  more  specific." 

"  That  I  cannot  be." 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"It  would  be  dishonorable  in  me." 

"  Not  more  so  than  to  stop  where  you 
have." 

"  I  cannot  say  more." 
299 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  I  do  not  recognize  your  right  to  be 
silent.  You  have  said  too  much  or  too 
little." 

"  Maizie,"  called  Mrs.  Blodgett  from 
the  hall,  "  come  quickly,  for  we  are  very 
late." 

"I  shall  insist,  at  some  future  time, 
upon  your  speaking  more  clearly,  Dr. 
Hartzmann,"  you  said,  as  a  queen  would 
speak,  and  picking  up  your  wrap,  with 
out  a  parting  word,  you  left  me  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room. 

I  came  home  through  the  cold,  and 
have  sat  here  regretting  my  foolishness 
and  groping  for  the  right  course  to  pur 
sue.  Oh,  my  darling,  if  I  but  had  the 
right,  I  would  gladly  tell  you  the  whole 
story  of  the  miserable  deception,  even 
though  I  disgraced  myself  in  your  eyes. 
If  it  were  merely  my  own  honor  which 
was  at  stake,  I  should  not  hesitate  for  an 
instant,  but  would  sacrifice  it  to  save  you, 
though  self-respect  seems  now  the  only 
thing  left  me.  But  try  as  I  may  to  prove 
300 


AN    UNTOLD    LCVE 

to  myself  that  I  have  the  right,  I  cannot, 
for  I  feel  that  more  than  my  own  honor 
is  concerned.  I  have  taken  Mr.  White- 
ly's  money,  and  cannot  return  it  to  him. 
To  break  faith  would  be  worse  than 
despicable.  I  shall  speak  to  you  of  my 
employer's  hardness,  and  beg  you  to  ask 
Mr.  Blodgett  if  he  would  give  Agnes  to 
Mr.  Whitely  or  advise  you  to  marry  him. 
My  heart  yearns  to  aid  you  in  your  peril, 
but  I  can  think  of  nothing  more  that  I 
can  do.  May  God  do  what  I  cannot,  my 
dearest.  Good-night. 
301 


THE   STORY   OF 


XXIV 

March  15.  I  was  so  miserable  with 
my  cough  to-day  that  I  could  not  summon 
the  energy  to  drag  myself  to  Mr.  Blod- 
gett's  office,  and  did  not  leave  my  room 
till  after  eight,  when  your  note  came. 

"  Miss  Walton,"  it  read,  "feels  that  she 
has  the  right  to  request  Dr.  Hartzmann 
to  call  this  evening,  in  relation  to  the 
conversation  uncompleted  last  night." 

I  understood  the  implied  command,  and 
thought  that  I  owed  what  you  claimed, 
while  feeling  that  in  obeying  I  could  for 
this  once  forego  my  scruple  of  entering 
your  door.  The  footman  showed  me  into 
the  library,  and  left  me  there.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  had  seen  it  since  my  thir 
teenth  year,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  the 
moment's  surprise  and  joy  I  felt  on  find 
ing  it  absolutely  unchanged.  Even  the 
302 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

books  were  arranged  as  formerly,  and  my 
eye  searched  and  found,  as  quickly  as  of 
yore,  all  the  old  volumes  full  of  plates 
which  had  once  given  us  such  horror  and 
delight.  For  the  instant  I  forgot  my 
physical  suffering  and  the  coming  ordeal. 

When  you  entered  the  room,  you  wel 
comed  me  only  with  a  bow.  Then  see 
ing  my  paleness,  you  said  kindly,  "  I  for 
got  your  cough,  Dr.  Hartzmann,  or  I 
would  not  have  brought  you  out  in  such 
weather.  Sit  here  by  the  fire."  After  a 
short  pause  you  went  on  :  "I  hope  that 
a  day's  thought  has  convinced  you  that 
common  justice  requires  you  to  say  more 
than  you  did  last  night  ?  " 

"Miss  Walton,"  I  replied,  "to  you, 
who  know  nothing  of  the  difficult  and 
hopeless  position  in  which  I  stand,  my 
conduct,  I  presume,  seems  most  dishon 
orable  and  cowardly ;  yet  I  cannot  say 
more  than  I  said  last  night." 

"You  must." 

"  I  can  scarcely  hope  that  what  I  then 


THE   STORY   OF 

said  will  influence  you,  but  if  you  will  go 
to  Mr.  Blodgett  and  "  — 

"Does  Mr.  Blodgett  know  what  you 
object  to  in  Mr.  Whitely?"  you  inter 
rupted. 

"Yes." 

"  I  went  to  Mr.  Blodgett  this  morning, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  knew  of  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  marry  Mr.  Whitely." 

"Then,  Miss  Walton,"  I  answered,  ris 
ing,  "I  cannot  expect  that  you  will  be 
influenced  by  my  opinion,  I  will  with 
draw  what  I  said  last  night.  Think  of 
me  as  leniently  as  you  can,  for  my  pur 
pose  was  honorable." 

"But  you  ought  to  say  more.    You"  — 

"I  cannot,"  I  replied. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  "  —  But  here 
a  servant  entered,  with  a  card. 

"  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you  announced, 
when  the  man  had  gone,  "  I  wrote  Mr. 
Whitely  yesterday  afternoon,  asking  him 
to  call  this  evening,  with  the  intention 
of  accepting  his  offer  of  marriage.  He 
304 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

is  now  in  the  drawing-room,  and  unless 
you  will  have  the  fairness,  the  honesty, 
to  explain  what  you  meant,  I  shall  tell 
him  all  that  has  occurred,  and  give  him 
the  opportunity  to  force  you  to  speak." 

"  I  shall  only  repeat  to  him,  Miss  Wal 
ton,  what  I  have  said  to  you." 

You  stood  a  moment  looking  at  me, 
with  a  face  blazing  with  indignation ; 
then  you  exclaimed,  "  You  at  least  owe  it 
to  him  not  to  run  away  while  I  am  gone ! " 
and  passed  into  the  drawing-room. 

You  returned  very  soon,  followed  by 
Mr.  Whitely. 

"Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you  asked,  "will 
you  repeat  what  you  said  last  night  to 
me?" 

"  I  advised  you  not  to  marry  Mr. 
Whitely,  Miss  Walton." 

"  And  you  will  not  say  why  ? "  you  de 
manded. 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Mr.    Whitely,"    you   cried,    "  cannot 
you  force  him  to  speak  ?" 
305 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  Miss  Walton,"  he  replied  suavely, 
and  his  very  coolness  in  the  strange  con 
dition  made  me  feel  that  he  was  master 
of  the  situation,  "I  am  as  perplexed  as 
you  are  at  this  extraordinary  conduct  in 
one  who  even  now  is  eating  bread  from 
my  hand.  I  have  long  since  ceased  to 
expect  gratitude  for  benefits,  but  such 
malevolence  surprises  and  grieves  me, 
since  I  have  never  done  Dr.  Hartzmann 
any  wrong,  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  have 
always  befriended  nim." 

"I  have  been  in  the  employ  of  Mr. 
Whiteiy,"  I  answered,  "  but  every  dollar 
he  has  paid  me  has  been  earned  by  my 
labor.  I  owe  him  no  debt  of  gratitude 
that  he  does  not  owe  me." 

"  You  owe  him  the  justice  that  every 
man  owes  another,"  you  asserted  indig 
nantly.  "To  make  vague  charges  be 
hind  one's  back,  and  then  refuse  to  be 
explicit,  is  a  coward's  and  a  slanderer's 
way  of  waging  war." 

"Miss  Walton,"  I  cried,  "I  should 
306 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

not  have  spoken,  though  God  knows  that 
my  motive  was  only  a  wish  to  do  you  a 
service,  and  I  would  give  my  life  to  do  as 
you  ask  !  " 

For  an  instant  my  earnestness  seemed 
to  sway  you ;  indeed,  I  am  convinced 
that  this  was  so,  since  Mr.  Whitely  ap 
parently  had  the  same  feeling,  and  spoke 
as  if  to  neutralize  my  influence,  saying  to 
you :  "  Miss  Walton,  I  firmly  believe  that 
Dr.  Hartzmann's  plea  of  honorable  con 
duct  is  nothing  but  the  ambush  of  a  cow 
ard.  But  as  he  has  been  for  two  years 
in  the  most  intimate  and  confidential  po 
sition  of  private  secretary  to  me,  he  may, 
through  some  error,  have  deluded  him 
self  into  a  conviction  that  gives  a  basis 
for  his  indefinite  charges.  I  will  not 
take  advantage  of  the  implied  secrecy, 
and  I  say  to  him  in  your  presence  that  if 
he  has  discovered  anything  which  indi 
cates  that  I  have  been  either  impure  or 
criminal,  I  give  him  permission  to  speak." 

Even  in  that  moment  of  entanglement 
307 


THE    STORY     OF 

I  could  not  but  admire  and  marvel  at 
the  skill  with  which  he  had  phrased  his 
speech,  so  as  to  seem  absolutely  open,  to 
slur  me  by  innuendo,  and  yet  avoid  the 
risk  of  exposure.  It  left  me  helpless,  and 
I  could  only  say,  "  I  have  not  charged 
Mr.  Whitely  with  either  impurity  or  crim 
inality." 

You  turned  to  him  and  said,  "This 
conduct  is  perfectly  inexplicable." 

"Except  on  one  ground,"  he  replied. 

"Which  is  ?  "  you  questioned. 

"  That  Dr.  Hartzmann  loves  you,"  he 
answered. 

"  That  is  impossible  !  "  you  exclaimed. 

"  Not  as  impossible  as  for  a  man  not 
to  love  you,  Miss  Walton,"  he  averred. 

"Tell  Mr.  Whitely  how  mistaken  he 
is,"  you  said  to  me. 

I  could  only  stand  silent,  and  after 
waiting  a  little  Mr.  Whitely  remarked, 
"  You  see  !  " 

"It    is   incredible ! "    you   protested, 
"  You  must  deny  it,  Dr.  Hartzmann !  " 
308 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"I  cannot,  Miss  Walton,"  I  murmured, 
with  bowed  head. 

"  You  love  me  ? "  you  cried  incredu 
lously. 

"  I  love  you,"  I  assented,  and  in  spite 
of  the  circumstances  it  was  happiness  to 
say  it  to  you. 

You  stood  gazing  at  me  in  amazement, 
large-eyed  as  a  startled  deer.  I  wonder 
what  your  first  words  would  have  been 
to  me  if  Mr.  Whitely  had  not  turned 
your  mind  into  another  channel  by  say 
ing,  "  I  do  not  think  that  we  need  search 
further  for  Dr.  Hartzmann's  motives  in 
making  his  innuendoes." 

"Miss  Walton,"  I  urged,  "my  love  for 
you,  far  from  making  your  faith  in  me 
less  or  my  motive  that  of  a  rival,  should 
convince  you  that  I  spoke  only  for  your 
sake,  since  you  yourself  know  that  my 
love  has  been  neither  hopeful  nor  self- 
seeking." 

I  think  you  pitied  me,  for  you  an 
swered  gently,  and  all  traces  of  the  scorn 
309 


THE    STORY    OF 

and  indignation  you  had  shown  just 
before  were  gone  from  your  face  and 
manner. 

"  Dr.  Hartzmann,"  you  said,  "  I  can 
not  allow  myself  to  listen  to  or  weigh 
such  indefinite  imputations  against  Mr. 
Whitely.  I  will  give  you  one  week  to 
explain  or  substantiate  what  you  have 
implied ;  and  unless  within  that  time  you 
do  so,  I  shall  accept  the  offer  of  mar 
riage  which  he  has  honored  me  by  mak 
ing.  Do  not  let  me  detain  you  further. 
Good-evening." 

I  passed  out  of  the  room  a  broken 
hearted  man,  without  strength  enough  to 
hold  up  my  head,  and  hardly  able  in  my 
weakness  to  crawl  back  to  my  study.  As 
I  sit  and  write,  every  breath  brings  with 
it  the  feeling  that  a  knife  is  being  thrust 
into  my  breast,  and  I  am  faint  with  the 
pain.  But  for  this  racking  cough  and 
burning  fever  I  might  have  made  a  bet 
ter  fight,  and  have  been  able  to  think  of 
some  way  of  saving  you.  But  even  in 
310 


my  suffering  I  have  reached  one  conclu 
sion.  To-morrow  I  shall  go  to  Mr. 
Whitely  and  tell  him  that  you  must 
know  the  truth  concerning  the  book,  and 
that  it  he  will  not  tell  you  I  shall.  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  hold  up  my  head 
again;  but  that  is  nothing,  if  I  can  but 
save  you.  Oh,  my  dearest  love,  the  sacri 
fice  of  life,  of  honor,  the  meeting  igno 
miny  or  death  for  your  sake,  will  be 
nothing  to  me  but  hap 
3" 


THE   STORY   OF 


XXV 

January  10,  1895.  This  evening  I 
have  for  the  first  time  re-read  this  —  I 
know  not  what  to  call  it,  for  it  is  neither 
diary  nor  letter  —  the  story  of  my  love  ; 
and  as  I  read,  the  singular  sensation 
came  over  me  that  I  was  following,  not 
my  own  thoughts  and  experiences,  but 
those  of  another  man.  Five  years  ago, 
half  mad  with  grief,  and  physically  and 
nervously  exhausted  to  the  brink  of  a 
breakdown,  I  spent  my  evenings  writing 
my  thoughts,  in  the  hope  that  the  fatigue 
of  the  task  would  bring  the  sleep  I  sought 
in  vain.  Little  I  then  wrote  seems  to  me 
now,  in  my  new  life,  what  I  could  ever 
possibly  have  confided  to  paper,  much 
less  have  felt.  Yet  here  is  my  own  hand 
writing  to  vouch  for  every  word,  and  to 
tell  me  that  the  morbid  chronicle  is  no 
312 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

other  than  my  own.  I  cannot  believe 
that  mere  years  have  brought  so  startling 
a  mental  change,  and  I  therefore  think 
that  much  of  it  is  an  expression,  not  of 
myself,  but  of  the  illness  which  put  an 
end  to  my  writing.  If  proof  were  needed 
of  the  many  kinds  of  men  each  man  con 
tains,  this  manuscript  of  mine  would  fur 
nish  it ;  for  the  being  I  have  read  about 
this  evening  is  no  more  the  Donald  Mait- 
land  of  to-night  than  —  Ah,  well,  to  my 
task  of  telling  what  has  wrought  this 
change,  since  it  must  be  written. 

For  a  month  I  was  confined  to  my 
bed  with  pneumonia,  and  the  attack  so 
weakened  me  that  I  did  not  leave  my 
room  for  five  weeks  more.  During  that 
time  Mrs.  Blodgett's  kindness  was  con 
stant,  and  her  face  is  the  only  memory 
that  stands  out  from  the  hours  of  my 
acute  torture.  While  I  was  convalescing, 
she  came  once,  and  sometimes  twice,  each 
day,  bringing  me  flowers,  fruit,  jellies, 
wines,  and  whatever  else  her  love  could 


THE   STORY    OF 

suggest.  It  was  amusing  to  see  her 
domineer  over  the  doctor,  trained  nurse, 
and  landlady,  and  I  soon  learned  to 
whom  to  make  my  pleas  for  extra  lib 
erty  or  special  privileges.  No  request, 
however  whimsical,  seemed  too  much  for 
her  affection,  though  my  demands  were 
unceasing,  in  the  selfishness  of  my  inva- 
lidism.  Only  one  thing  I  dared  not  ask 
her,  and  that  was  not  from  fear  that  it 
would  be  refused,  but  from  cowardice. 
I  longed  to  have  her  speak  of  you,  but 
during  those  weeks  she  never  mentioned 
your  name. 

The  day  before  Mrs.  Blodgett  left  town 
she  took  me  for  my  first  airing  in  her 
carriage,  and  told  me  that  she  was  leav 
ing  a  man  and  horses  in  town  for  a 
month  longer  in  order  that  I  should  have 
a  daily  drive.  "Mr.  Blodgett  really 
needs  a  carriage  more  in  the  summer 
than  he  does  in  the  winter,  but  he  never 
will  consent  to  let  me  leave  one  for  him, 
so  I  Ve  used  you  as  an  excuse,"  was  the 


AN   UNTOLD    LOVE 

way  she  explained  her  kindness.  "  By 
the  end  of  the  month  I  hope  you  will 
be  well  enough  to  come  up  and  make  us 
a  visit  in  the  Berkshires,  for  the  change 
will  be  the  very  best  thing  for  you." 

"  I  hope  to  be  at  work  again  by  that 
time,"  I  said. 

"  You  are  not  to  see  pen  or  paper  till 
the  first  of  October ! "  she  ordered  ;  and 
when  I  only  shook  my  head,  she  con 
tinued,  "For  three  years  you've  been 
overworking  yourself,  and  now  the  doc 
tor  says  you  must  take  a  long  rest,  and 
I  'm  going  to  see  that  you  have  it." 

"You  mean  to  be  good  to  me,  Mrs. 
Blodgett,"  I  sighed,  "but  if  you  knew 
my  situation,  you  would  understand  that 
I  must  get  to  work  again  as  soon  as  pos 
sible" 

"I  don't  care  about  your  situation," 
she  sniffed  contemptuously,  "and  I  do 
care  about  your  health.  I  shall  insist 
that  you  come  up  to  My  Fancy,  if  I  have 
to  come  back  to  the  city  to  bring  you  ; 
315 


THE    STORY    OF 

and  when  I  once  get  you  there,  I  shan't 
let  you  go  away  till  I  choose." 

Loving  my  tyrant,  I  did  not  protest 
further,  though  firm  in  my  own  mind  as 
to  my  duty.  As  it  turned  out,  I  need 
not  have  denied  her,  for  the  end  of  the 
month  found  me  with  but  little  added 
strength ;  and  though  I  tried  to  work 
two  or  three  times,  I  was  forced  to  aban 
don  the  attempts  without  accomplishing 
anything.  My  wonder  is  that  I  gained 
strength  at  all,  in  my  discouragement 
over  the  loss  of  Mr.  Whitely's  work,  my 
three  months'  idleness,  the  heavy  doc 
tor's  bills,  and  the  steadily  accruing  in 
terest  on  the  debt. 

On  the  2ist  of  June  Mr.  Blodgett  came 
to  see  me,  as  indeed  he  had  done  daily 
since  Mrs.  Blodgett  left  town. 

"The  boss  writes,"  he  announced, 
"ordering  me  to  come  up  to-day,  and 
directing  that  before  I  leave  New  York 
I  am  to  do  forty-seven  things,  ranging 
in  importance  from  buying  her  the  last 
' 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

novels  to  matching  some  white" — he 
looked  at  his  letter,  and  spelled  out  — 
" '  f-1-o-s-s '  as  per  sample  inclosed.  I 
have  n't  time  to  do  more  than  forty-five, 
and  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  never  hear  the  last 
of  the  remaining  two  unless  you  '11  save 
me." 

"How?" 

"Well,  three  times  in  her  letter  she 
tells  me  that  I  Ve  got  to  bring  you,  the 
last  time  as  good  as  saying  that  my  life 
won't  be  an  insurable  risk  if  I  don't. 
Since  she  puts  so  much  stress  on  your 
presence,  it 's  just  possible  that  if  I  fill 
that  order  she  '11  forget  the  rest." 

"  I  would  go,  Mr.  Blodgett,  but  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  understand  all  that,"  he  inter 
rupted.  "  Of  course,  if  you  stay  in  the 
cool  fresh  air  of  the  city,  you  won't  run 
any  risk  of  the  malaria  the  Berkshires 
are  full  of ;  I  know  the  New  York  mar 
kets  have  peas  as  large  and  firm  as  bul 
lets,  while  those  in  our  garden  are  poor 
little  shriveled  affairs  hardly  worth  the 
3*7 


THE   STORY   OF 

trouble  of  eating;  our  roads  are  not 
Belgian  blocks,  but  only  soft  dirt,  and  we 
haven't  got  a  decent  flagged  sidewalk 
within  ten  miles  of  My  Fancy.  I  un 
derstand  perfectly  that  you'll  get  well 
faster  here,  and  so  get  to  work  sooner ; 
but  all  the  same,  just  as  a  favor,  you 
might  pull  me  out  of  this  scrape." 

I  need  not  say  I  had  to  yield,  and  to 
gether  we  took  the  afternoon  express. 
On  the  train  we  found  Mr.  Whitely, — 
as  great  a  surprise,  apparently,  to  Mr. 
Blodgett  as  it  was  to  me. 

"  Hello ! "  exclaimed  the  banker. 
"  Where  are  you  bound  for  ? " 

"I  presume  for  the  same  destination 
you  are,"  Mr.  Whitely  replied.  "  I  am 
going  up  to  see  Miss  Walton,  and  if  Mrs. 
Blodgett  cannot  give  me  a  night's  hos 
pitality,  I  shall  go  to  the  hotel." 

"Plenty  of  room   at  My   Fancy,  and 
I  '11  guarantee  your  welcome,"  promised 
Mr.  Blodgett  pleasantly.      "Here's  the 
doctor  going  up  for  a  bit  of  nursing." 
318 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

Much  to  my  surprise,  my  former  em 
ployer  entered  the  compartment,  and, 
offering  me  his  hand,  sat  down  by  the 
lounge  I  was  stretched  upon.  "  You  've 
had  a  serious  illness,"  he  remarked,  with 
a  bland  attempt  at  sympathy. 

I  only  nodded  my  head. 

"  I  hope  you  will  recover  quickly,  for 
you  are  needed  in  the  office,"  he  went  on. 

I  could  not  have  been  more  surprised 
if  he  had  struck  me,  though  I  did  not 
let  it  appear  in  my  face. 

"  Whitely  's  been  trying  to  go  it  alone 
on  his  editorials,  and  the  papers  have  all 
been  laughing  at  him,"  chuckled  Mr. 
Blodgett.  "Just  read  us  your  famous 
one,  Whitely, —  that  one  about  The  Ten 
dency  of  Modern  Art,  with  the  original 
Hebrew  from  Solomon  you  put  in." 

I  saw  my  employer  redden,  and  in 
pity  for  his  embarrassment  I  said,  "  I  do 
not  think  I  shall  ever  come  back  to  the 
office,  Mr.  Whitely." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
319 


THE    STORY    OF 

committed  an  unwise  action,  but  business 
is  business,  and  I  see  no  cause  why  we 
need  let  a  single  mistake  terminate  a  re 
lation  mutually  profitable." 

"I  have  learned  the  lesson  that  one 
cannot  sell  one's  honesty  without  wrong 
ing  other  people,  and  I  shall  never  do  it 
again." 

"  This  is  purely  sentimental  "  —  he 
began. 

Mr.  Blodgett,  however,  interrupted  by 
saying,  "Now  don't  go  to  exciting  the 
doctor,  for  he 's  to  sleep  on  the  trip.  Be 
sides,  I  've  got  something  in  mind  bet 
ter  than  the  job  he's  had  under  you, 
Whitely.  Come  and  have  a  smoke,  and 
leave  him  to  nap  a  bit." 

They  left  me,  and  I  set  to  puzzling 
over  many  questions :  how  you  would 
greet  me  at  My  Fancy ;  how  you  would 
welcome  Mr.  Whitely;  what  was  the 
meaning  of  his  friendliness  towards  me ; 
and  what  new  kindness  Mr.  Blodgett  had 
in  store  for  me.  Finally  I  fell  asleep, 
320 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

to  be  awakened  only  when  we  reached 
our  destination. 

Agnes  met  us  at  the  station,  and  at 
the  house  Mrs.  Blodgett  gave  me  the 
warmest  of  welcomes,  but  not  till  I  came 
downstairs  before  dinner  did  you  and  I 
meet.  Your  greeting  was  formal,  yet 
courteous  and  gracious  as  of  old,  almost 
making  me  question  if  our  last  two  inter 
views  could  be  realities. 

Before  the  dinner  was  finished  Mrs. 
Blodgett  ordered  me  to  the  divan  on  the 
veranda,  and  sent  dessert  and  fruit  out 
to  me.  You  all  joined  me  when  the  mo 
ment  came  for  coffee  and  cigars ;  but  the 
evening  was  cloudy  and  rather  breezy, 
and  presently  Mrs.  Blodgett  said  it  was 
too  cold  for  her,  and  suggested  a  game 
of  whist  indoors.  "  You  must  stay  out 
here,"  she  told  me,  "  but  if  you  feel  cool 
be  sure  to  use  the  shawl." 

You  turned  and  said  to  Mr.  Whitely, 
"You  will  play,  I  hope?"  and  he  as 
sented  so  eagerly  that  it  was  all  I  could 
321 


THE   STORY   OF 

do  to  keep  from  laughing  outright  when 
you  continued,  "  Agnes  and  Mr.  Whitely 
will  make  your  table,  Mrs.  Blodgett,  so 
I  will  stay  here  and  watch  the  clouds." 
The  whole  thing  was  so  palpably  with 
an  object  that  I  felt  at  once  that  you 
wished  to  see  me  alone,  to  learn  if  I  had 
anything  more  to  say  concerning  Mr. 
Whitely ;  and  as  I  realized  this,  I  braced 
myself  for  the  coming  ordeal. 

For  a  few  moments  you  stood  watch 
ing  the  gathering  storm,  and  then  took 
a  chair  by  the  divan  on  which  I  lay. 

"Are  you  too  honorable,"  you  began, 
—  and  though  I  could  not  see  your  face 
in  the  darkness,  your  voice  told  me  you 
were  excited,  —  "  to  pardon  dishonorable 
conduct  in  others  ?  For  I  have  come  to 
beg  of  you  forgiveness  for  a  wrong." 

"  Of  me,  Miss  Walton  ?  " 

"  Last   April,"   you   went   on,    "  Mrs. 

Blodgett  brought  me  a  book  and  asked 

me  to  read  it.    A  few  paragraphs  revealed 

to  me  that  it  was  something  written  by 

322 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

an  old  friend  of  mine.  After  reading  a 
little  further,  I  realized  for  the  first  time 
that  I  was  violating  a  confidence.  Yet 
though  I  knew  this,  and  struggled  to  close 
the  book,  I  could  not,  but  read  it  to  the 
end.  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Walton ! "  I  protested 
"  Why  ask  forgiveness  of  me  ?  What  is 
your  act  compared  to  the  wrong  "  — 

"  Hush,  Don,"  you  said  gently,  and 
your  use  of  my  name,  so  long  unheard, 
told  me  in  a  word  that  the  feeling  of 
our  childhood  days  was  come  again. 
"  Tell  me  you  forgive  me  ! "  you  en 
treated. 

"  I  am  not  the  one  to  forgive,  Maizie." 

"I  did  wrong,  and  I  ask  your  par 
don,"  you  begged  humbly.  "  Yet  I  'm 
not  sorry  in  the  least,  and  I  should  do 
it  again,"  you  instantly  added,  laughing 
merrily  at  your  own  perverseness.  Then 
in  a  moment  you  were  serious  again, 
saying,  "  I  never  received  the  letters  or 
the  photograph,  Donald.  My  uncle  con- 
323 


THE    STORY    OF 

fesses  that  he  put  them  in  the  fire." 
And  before  I  could  speak,  a  new  thought 
seized  you,  for  you  continued  sadly,  "  I 
shall  never  forgive  myself  for  my  harsh 
ness  and  cruelty  when  you  were  so  ill." 

"That  is  nothing,"  I  replied,  "since 
all  our  misunderstandings  are  gone. 
Why,  even  my  debt,  Maizie,  ceases  now 
to  be  a  burden  ;  in  the  future  it  will  be 
only  a  joy  to  work." 

"  Donald  !  "  you  exclaimed.  "  You 
don't  suppose  I  shall  let  you  pay  me  an 
other  cent !  " 

"I  must." 

"  But  I  am  rich,"  you  protested.  "  The 
money  is  nothing  to  me.  You  shall  not 
ruin  your  career  to  pay  it.  I  scorn  my 
self  when  I  think  that  I  refused  to  see 
you  that  night,  and  so  lost  my  only 
chance  of  saving  you  from  what  followed. 
My  cowardice,  my  wicked  cowardice !  It 
drove  you  to  death's  door  by  overwork, 
to  give  me  wealth  I  do  not  know  how  to 
spend.  You  parted  with  your  library  that 
324 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

I  might  let  money  lie  idle  in  bank.  I 
forced  you  to  sell  your  book  —  your 
fame  —  to  that  thief.  Oh,  Donald,  think 
of  the  wrong  it  has  done  already,  and 
don't  make  it  do  greater !  " 

"  Maizie,  you  do  not  understand  "  — 

"  I  understand  it  all,"  you  interrupted. 
"  You  must  not  —  you  shall  not  —  I 
won't  take  it  —  I  "  — 

"For  his  sake!" 

"  But  I  love  him,  too  !  "  you  pleaded. 
"Don't  you  see,  Donald,  that  it  was 
never  the  money,  —  that  was  nothing ; 
but  they  told  me  his  love  —  and  yours, 
for  they  said  you  had  known  all  the  time 
—  was  only  pretense,  a  method  by  which 
you  might  continue  to  rob  me.  And  I 
came  to  believe  it,  —  though  I  should 
have  known  better,  —  because,  since  you 
never  wrote,  it  seemed  to  me  you  had 
both  dropped  me  out  of  your  thoughts 
as  soon  as  you  could  no  longer  plunder 
me.  Even  then,  scorning  you,  —  like 
you  in  your  feeling  over  my  neglect  of 
325 


THE    STORY    OF 

your  letters,  —  I  could  not  help  loving 
you,  for  those  Paris  and  Tyrol  days 
were  the  happiest  I  have  ever  known ; 
and  though  I  knew,  Don,  that  I  ought 
to  forget  you,  as  I  believed  you  had  for 
gotten  me,  I  could  not  do  so.  I  have 
never  dared  to  speak  in  public  of  either 
of  you,  for  fear  I  should  break  down.  Try 
as  I  might,  I  could  not  help  loving  you 
both  as  I  have  never  loved  any  one  else. 
That  I  turned  you  away  from  my  house 
was  because  I  did  not  dare  to  meet  you, 

—  I  knew  I   could   not   control  myself. 
After  the  man  took  the  message,  I  sobbed 
over  having  to  insult  you  by  sending  it  by 
a  servant.     But  for  my  want  of  courage 

—  had  I  seen  you  as  I  ought  —   If  I  had 
only  understood,  as  your  journal  has  made 
me,  —  had  only  known  that  my  name  was 
on  his  lips  when  he  died!     No   money 
could  pay  for  what  he  gave  to  me.    Could 
he  ask  me  now  for  twice  the   sum,   it 
would  be  my  pleasure  to  give  it  to  him, 
for  I  love  him  dearly,  and  "  — 

326 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  If  you  love  him,  Maizie,  you  will  let 
me  clear  his  name  as  far  as  lies  within 
my  power." 

For  an  instant  you  were  silent,  and 
then  said  softly,  "  You  are  right,  Don 
ald,  we  will  clear  his  name." 

I  took  your  hand  and  touched  it  to  my 
lips.  "  To  hear  you  speak  of  him  "  — 
I  could  go  no  further,  in  my  emotion. 

There  was  a  pause  before  you  asked, 
"  Donald,  do  you  remember  our  talk  here 
last  autumn  ? " 

"  Every  word." 

You  laughed  gayly.  "  I  want  you  to 
know,  sir,"  you  asserted,  with  a  pretense 
of  defiance,  "  that  I  don't  believe  in  love, 
because  I  have  never  found  any  that  was 
wholly  free  from  self-indulgence  or  self- 
interest.  And  I  still  think  "  — 

Just  then  Mrs.  Blodgett  joined  us,  and 
inquired,  "  Have  you  told  Rudolph,  Mai 
zie  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  I  went  to  see  how  you  were  the  mo- 
327 


THE    STORY    OF 

ment  I  heard  of  your  illness,"  she  said, 
with  a  certain  challenge  in  her  voice, 
"and  I  found  that  book  lying  on  your 
desk  just  where  you  stopped  writing 
from  weakness.  I  read  it,  and  I  took  it 
to  Maizie." 

"  It  was  kismet,  I  suppose,"  was  all  I 
could  say,  too  happy  to  think  of  criticism, 
and  instantly  her  manner  changed  and 
she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,"  she  sobbed. 

"You  have  been  too  good  to  me,"  I 
answered,  rising  and  taking  her  hand. 

"There,  there,"  she  continued,  steady 
ing  herself.  "  I  did  n't  come  out  to  be 
have  like  this,  but  to  tell  you  to  go  to 
bed  at  once.  I  'm  going  to  your  room 
to  see  that  everything  is  right  for  our  in 
valid,  but  don't  you  delay  a  minute  after 
I  'm  gone,"  and  she  disappeared  through 
the  doorway. 

I  turned  to  you  and  held  out  my 
hand,  bidding  you,  "  Good-night,  Mai 
zie,"  and  you  took  it,  and  replied,  "  Good- 
328 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

night,  Don."     Then  suddenly  you  leaned 
forward,  and,  kissing  my  forehead,  added, 
"  God  keep  you  safe  for  me,  my  darling." 
I  took  you  in  my  arms,  and  gave  you 
back    your  kiss   twofold,   while   saying, 
"  Good-night,  my  love." 
329 


THE  STORY   OF 


XXVI 

A  MAN  does  not  willingly  spread  on 
paper  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  mo 
ments  of  his  life.  When  half  crazed 
with  grief  and  illness  I  might  express 
my  suffering,  much  as,  in  physical  pain, 
some  groan  aloud ;  tyit  the  deepest  hap 
piness  is  silent,  for  it  is  too  great  to 
be  told.  And  lest,  my  dears,  you  think 
me  even  less  manly  than  I  am,  I  choose 
to  add  here  the  reason  for  my  writing 
the  last  few  pages  of  this  story  of  my 
love,  that  if  you  ever  read  it  you  may 
know  the  motive  which  made  me  tell 
what  till  to-night  I  have  kept  locked  in 
my  heart. 

This  evening  the  dearest  woman  in  the 
world  came  to  me,  as  I  sat  at  my  desk 
in  the  old  library,  and  asked,  "Are  you 
busy,  Donald  ? " 

33° 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"I  am  reading  the  one  hundred  and 
forty  -  seventh  complimentary  review  of 
my  History  of  the  Moors,  and  I  am  so 
sick  of  sweets  that  your  interruption 
comes  as  an  unalloyed  pleasure." 

"  Am  I  bitter  or  acid  ? "  she  asked, 
leaning  over  my  shoulder  and  arranging 
my  hair,  which  is  one  of  her  ways  of 
pleasing  me. 

"You  are  my  exact  opposite,"  I  said 
gravely. 

"  How  uncomplimentary  you  are  !  " 
she  cried,  with  a  pretense  of  anger  in  her 
voice. 

"  An  historian  must  tell  the  truth  now 
and  then,  for  variety's  sake." 

"  Then  tell  me  if  you  are  too  engaged 
to  spare  me  a  minute.  Any  other  time 
will  do." 

"  You  are  seriously  mistaken,  because 
no  other  time  will  do.  And  nothing 
about  me  is  ever  engaged,  as  regards 
you,  except  my  affections,  and  they  are 
permanently  so." 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  I  Ve  come  to  ask  a  great  favor  of 
you." 

"  Out  of  the  question ;  but  you  may 
tell  me  what  it  is." 

"Ah,  Donald,  say  you  will  grant  it 
before  I  tell  you  ? " 

"Concealment  bespeaks  a  guilty  con 
science." 

"  But  sometimes  you  are  so  funny  and 
obstinate  about  things  ! " 

"That  is  what  Mr.  Whitely  used  to 
say." 

"Don't  mention  that  wretch's  name 
to  me  !  To  think  of  that  miserable  little 
Western  college  making  him  an  LL.  D. 
because  of  your  book  ! " 

"  Never  mind,  Maizie  ;  here 's  a  letter 
I  received  an  hour  ago  from  Jastrow, 
which  tells  me  the  University  of  Leipzig 
is  going  to  give  me  a  degree." 

"That  he  should  steal  your  fame  !  " 

"  My  Moor  is  five  times  the  chap  my 
Turk  was." 

"  But  you  might  have  had  both  !  " 
332 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  And  gone  without  you  ?  Don't  fret 
over  it,  my  darling." 

"  I  can't  help  "  — 

She  always  ends  this  vein  by  abusing 
/lerself,  which  I  would  n't  allow  another 
human  being  to  do,  and  which  I  don't 
like  to  hear,  so  I  interrupted  :  "  Jastrow 
says  he'll  come  over  in  March  to  visit 
us,  and  threatens  to  bring  the  manu 
script  of  his  whole  seventeen  volumes, 
for  me  to  take  a  final  look  at  it  before 
he  sends  it  to  press." 

"  The  dear  old  thing ! "  she  said  ten 
derly.  "  I  love  him  so  for  what  he  was 
to  you  that  I  believe  I  shall  welcome  him 
with  a  kiss." 

"Why  make  the  rest  of  his  life  un 
happy  ? " 

"  Is  that  the  way  it  affects  you  ?  " 

"Woman  is  born  illogical,  and  even 
the  cleverest  of  her  sex  cannot  entirely 
overcome  the  taint.  After  you  give  me 
a  kiss  I  bear  in  mind  that  I  am  to  have 
another,  and  that  makes  me  very  happy. 
333 


THE   STORY   OF 

But  if  you  kiss  Jastrow,  the  poor  fellow 
will  go  back  to  Germany  and  pine  away 
into  his  grave.  Even  his  fifty-two  dia 
lects  will  not  satisfy  him  after  your  la 
bial." 

"  Oh,  you  silly ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  but, 
my  dears,  I  think  she  is  really,  in  her 
secret  heart,  fond  of  silliness,  for  she 
leaned  over  and  —  There,  I  '11  stop  be 
ing  what  she  called  me. 

"  We  '11  give  him  a  great  reception," 
she  continued,  "  and  have  every  one 
worth  knowing  to  meet  him." 

u  He  is  the  shyest  of  beings." 

"How  books  and  learning  do  refine 
men  !  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  do  make  weaklings 
of  us." 

"  Will  you  never  get  over  the  idea 
that  you  are  weak?"  she  cried;  for  it 
is  one  of  her  pet  superstitions  that  I  am 
not. 

"  You  '11  frighten  me  out  of  it  if  you 
speak  like  that." 

334 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  You  are  —  well  —  that  is  really 
what  I  came  to  ask  for.  Just  to  please 
your  own  wife,  you  will,  Donald,  won't 
you?" 

"The  distinction  between  'will'  and 
'  won't '  is  clearly  set  forth  in  a  somewhat 
well-known  song  concerning  a  spider  and 
a  fly." 

"  Oh,  you  bad  boy ! " 

"  Adsum." 

"  I  'm  really  serious." 

"I  never  was  less  so." 

"  I  should  not  have  become  your  wife 
if  I  had  dreamed  you  would  be  such  a 
brute ! " 

"  You  '11  please  remember  that  I  never 
asked  you  to  marry  me." 

She  laughed  deliciously  over  the  in 
sult,  and  after  that  I  could  not  resist 
her. 

"  You  have,"    I   said,    "  a  bundle  in 

your  left  hand,  wrapped  in  tissue  paper 

and  tied  with  a  blue  ribbon,  which  you 

sedulously  keep  from  my  sight,  but  of 

335 


THE   STORY   OF 

which  I  caught   a  glimpse   as  you   en 
tered." 

"  And  you  Ve  known  it  all  this  time  ! 
Perhaps  you  know  too  what  I  want  ? " 

"Last  spring,"  I  answered,  "I  knocked 
at  the  door  of  your  morning-room  twice, 
and  receiving  no  response,  I  went  in,  to 
find  you  reading  something  that  you  in 
stantly  hid  from  sight.  There  were  on 
the  lounge,  I  remember,  a  sheet  of  tissue 
paper  and  a  blue  ribbon.  I  suspect  a 
connection." 

"Well?" 

"  My  theory  is  that  you  have  some 
really  improper  book  wrapped  in  the 
paper,  and  that  is  why  you  so  guiltily 
hide  it  from  me." 

"  Oh,  Donald,  it  gives  me  such  happi 
ness  to  read  it !  " 

"That  was  the  reason  I  asked  you 
why  you  had  tears  in  your  eyes,  when  I 
surprised  you  that  day.  Your  happiness 
was  most  enviable  !  " 

"  Men  never  understand  women  !  " 
336 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"  Deo  gratias." 

"  But  I  love  it." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  express  such 
sentiments  for  so  erotic  a  book." 

"  Oh,  don't  apply  such  a  word  to  it ! " 
she  cried,  in  a  pained  voice. 

"  A  word,"  I  explained,  "  taken  from 
the  Greek  erotikos,  which  is  derived  from 
erao,  meaning  '  I  love  passionately.'  It 
is  singularly  descriptive,  Maizie." 

"If  it  means  that,  I  like  it,  but  I 
thought  you  were  insulting  my  book." 

"  Almost  five  years  ago,"  I  remarked, 
"a  volume  was  stolen  from  my  room, 
which  I  have  never  since  been  able  to 
recover.  Now  a  woman  of  excessive 
honesty  calmly  calls  it  hers." 

"  You  know  you  don't  want  it." 

"  I  want  it  very  much." 

"  Really  ? " 

"  To  put  it  in  the  fire." 

"  Don  !  " 

"  Once  upon  a  time  a  most  bewitching 
woman  wrote  a  story,  and  in  a  vain  mo- 
337 


THE   STORY   OF 

ment  her  husband  asked  her  to  give  it 
to  him.     She  "  — 

"  But,  my  darling,  it  was  so  foolish 
that  I  had  to  burn  it  up.  Think  of  my 
making  the  heroine  marry  that  crea 
ture!" 

"  Since  you  married  the  poor  chap  to 
the  other  girl,  there  was  no  other  ending 
possible.  If  the  book  were  only  in  ex 
istence,  I  think  Agnes  and  her  husband 
would  enjoy  reading  it  almost  as  much 
as  I  should." 

"  How  silly  I  was !  But  at  least  the 
book  made  you  write  the  ending  which 
prevented  me  from  accepting  him  that 
winter.  What  a  lot  of  trouble  I  gave  my 
poor  dear ! " 

"  I  met  the  '  poor  dear '  yesterday, 
looking  very  old  and  unhappy  despite  his 
LL.  D." 

"Oh,  you  idiot!"  she  laughed.     And 
she  must  like  imbeciles,  too,  for  —  well, 
I  'm  not  going  to  tell  even  you  how  I 
know  that  she  's  fond  of  idiots. 
338 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

"Why  do  you  suppose  he 's  unhappy  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  My  theory  is  that  he 's  miserable  be 
cause  he  lost  —  lost  me." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  he  is  !  "  joyously  asserted 
the  tenderest  of  women. 

"Nevertheless,"  I  resumed,  "it  was  a 
book  I  should  have  valued  as  much  as 
you  do  that  one  in  cissue  paper,  and  you 
ought  not  to  have  burned  it." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  did,  Donald,  since 
you  would  really  have  liked  it,"  she  said, 
wistfully  and  sorrowfully.  "  I  should 
have  thought  of  your  feelings,  and  not  of 
mine." 

This  is  a  mood  I  cannot  withstand. 
"  Dear  heart,"  I  responded,  "  I  have  you, 
and  all  the  books  in  the  world  are  not 
worth  a  breath  in  comparison.  What 
favor  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? " 

"To  write  a  sort  of  last  chapter — an 
ending,  you  know  —  telling  about  — 
about  the  rest." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  it  ? " 
339 


THE    STORY    OF 

"  I  ?  Never !  I  could  n't.  But  I  want 
to  have  it  all  in  the  book,  so  that  when 
Foster  and  Mai  are  older  they  can  read 
it." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  sharing,  even 
with  our  children,  my  under-the-rose  idyl 
with  the  loveliest  of  girls.  And  when 
the  children  are  older,  they  '11  be  far 
more  interested  in  their  own  heart  se 
crets  than  they  are  in  ours." 

"Still,  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "they  may 
hear  from  others  some  unkind  and  per 
verted  allusions  to  our  story ;  for  you 
know  what  foolish  things  were  said  at 
the  time  of  our  marriage." 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  some  one  — 
was  it  my  mother  or  Mr.  Whitely  ?  "  — 

"Both,"  she  answered. 

"  —  spread  it  abroad  that  I  had  trapped 
an  heiress  into  marriage  by  means  of  an 
alias." 

"  Was  n't  it  a  delicious  version  !  "  she 
laughed  merrily.  "  But  no  matter  what 's 
ever  tattled  in  the  future,  if  Foster  and 
340 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

Mai  have  your  journal,  they  will  always 
understand  it." 

"Maizie,"  I  urged,  "if  you  let  those 
imps  of  mischief  read  of  our  childish 
doings  in  this  old  library,  they  '11  either 
finish  painting  the  plates  in  Kingsbor- 
ough,  or  burn  the  house  down  in  trying 
to  realize  an  Inca  of  Peru  at  the  stake." 

"  But  I  won't  read  them  those  parts," 
she  promised  ;  "  especially  if  you  write  a 
nice  ending,  which  they  '11  like." 

"  Won't  it  do  to  add  just  a  paragraph, 
saying  that  our  fairy  godmamma  found 
and  gave  you  the  journal,  and  that  then 
we  '  lived  happily  ever  after  '  ? " 

"No,  Donald,"  she  begged.  "I  want 
the  whole  story,  to  match  the  rest." 

"  Five  years  ago  I  knew  the  saddest 
and  most  dejected  of  fellows,  whose  mis 
ery  was  so  great  that  he  wailed  it  out  on 
paper.  But  now  I  know  only  the  happi 
est  of  mortals,  and  he  cannot  write  in  the 
lugubrious  tone  of  yore  —  unless  a  lady 
of  his  acquaintance  will  banish  him  from 


THE    STORY    OF 

her  presence  or  do  something  else  equally 
joy-destroying." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  bribe  me  into  giv 
ing  you  a  rest  from  my  presence  for  a 
time?" 

"Undoubtedly,"  I  assented.  "It's  a 
fearful  strain  to  live  up  to  you,  and  it  is 
beginning  to  tell  on  me." 

"  If  I  did  n't  know  you  were  teasing,  I 
should  really  be  hurt.  But  I  should  like 
to  ask  you  one  thing." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"  In  your  journal  —  well  —  of  course  I 
know  that  you  were  —  that  I  am  not  — 
that  your  love  made  you  think  me  what 
I  never  was  in  the  least,  Donald,"  she 
faltered,  "  but  still,  perhaps  —  Do  you 
remember  what  Mr.  Blodgett  said  about 
his  not  giving  Mrs.  Blodgett  for  ten  of 
the  women  he  —  ?  I  hope  you  like  my 
reality  as  much  as  your  ideal." 

"Haven't  you  changed  your  idea  of 
me,  Maizie  ? " 

"  Oh  yes." 

342 


AN    UNTOLD   LOVE 

"  And  therefore  you  don't  love  me  as 
much  ? " 

"But  that's  different,  Donald,"  she 
observed  seriously. 

"  How  ? " 

"  Why,  you  treated  me  so  strangely 
that,  inevitably,  I  did  n't  know  what  you 
were  like ;  and  though  you  interested 
me  very  much,  and  though  your  journal 
brought  back  my  old  love  for  you,  still, 
what  I  did  was  more  in  pity  and  ad 
miration  and  reparation  than  —  and  so  I 
could  fall  deeper  in  love.  While  you, 
being  so  much  in  love  already,  and  with 
such  a  totally  different  woman  "  — 

"Only  went  from  bad  to  worse,"  I 
groaned.  "Yes,  I  own  up.  My  sin  is 
one  of  the  lowest  man  can  commit.  I 
have  fallen  in  love  with  a  married  woman. 
And  the  strange  thing  about  it  is  that 
you  are  not  jealous  of  her  !  Indeed,  I 
really  believe  that  you  are  magnanimous 
enough  to  love  her  too,  though  it's  nat 
ural  you  should  not  like  her  as  much  as 

343 


THE   STORY    OF 

you  do  some  others.  But  next  August 
I  '11  leave  her  and  go  to  India  to  study 
for  my  new  book." 

"The  married  woman  will  go  too," 
she  predicted  calmly. 

"  I  should  n't  dare  risk  her  among 
those  hill  tribes." 

"And  she  won't  risk  you  where  it 
is  n't  safe  for  her  to  go." 

"I  was  only  thinking  of  your  lovely 
complexion,"  I  explained. 

"Old  mahogany  is  very  fashionable," 
she  laughed. 

"Can  nothing  make  you  stay  at 
home  ? "  I  asked  beseechingly. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  ever  was  a  husband 
who  did  not  love  to  tease  his  wife  ?  " 

"The  divorce  courts  have  records  of 
many  such  unloving  wretches." 

"What  I  want,"  she  told  me,  return 
ing  to  her  wish,  "  is  to  have  you  take  it 
up  just  where  you  left  off.  Tell  about 
your  pneumonia,  and  how  Mrs.  Blodgett 
found  your  journal,  but  did  n't  dare  give 
344 


AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

it  to  me  till  the  doctor  was  certain  you 
would  recover  ;  and  then  tell  of  my  send 
ing  you  flowers  and  jellies  and  everything 
I  could  think  of,  by  her,  to  help  you  get 
well.  How"  — 

"I  should  have  eaten  twice  as  much 
and  recovered  much  more  quickly  if  she 
had  only  let  me  know  from  whom  they 
really  came,"  I  interjected  in  an  aggrieved 
tone. 

"  And  tell  how  I  would  n't  listen  to 
that  scoundrel  till  you  should  have  a 
chance  to  justify  yourself  ;  how,  the  mo 
ment  I  had  read  your  diary,  I  wrote  and 
rejected  him,  and  would  not  see  him 
when  he  called  ;  how  he  would  not  ac 
cept  his  dismissal,  but  followed  me  to 
the  country ;  tell  how  dreadfully  in  the 
way  he  was  that  evening,  till  Mrs.  Blod- 
gett  and  Agnes  and  I  trapped  him  into 
a  game  of  whist "  — 

"  You  Machiavellis ! " 

"Tell  all  about  my  confession,  and 
how  we  all  spoiled  you  for  those  months 
345 


THE    STORY    OF 

at  My  Fancy.     Oh,  were  n't  they  lovelj 
Donald?" 

"  I  thought  so  then." 

"  But  not  now  ?  " 

"  A  gooseberry  is  good  till  you  taste  a 
strawberry.  There  was  a  good  deal  too 
much  gooseberry,  as  I  remember." 

"Then  tell  how  the  papers  and  peo 
ple  chattered  about  your  assuming  your 
true  name  ;  and  how  they  gabbled  when 
we  were  married,  —  and  how,  on  our 
wedding  day,  we  endowed  the  hospital 
ward"  — 

"  Have  n't  you  made  a  slip  in  the  pro 
noun  ? " 

"I'll  box  your  ears  if  you  even  sug 
gest  it  again ;  half  of  the  money  was 
what  you  earned  —  endowed  the  hospi 
tal  ward  in  memory  of  our  dear  father, 
and  how  happy  we  Ve  been  since." 

"  You  've  made  a  mistake  in  the  last 
pronoun,  I  'm  certain." 

"  You  will  write  it  to  please  me,  Don« 
aid?" 

346 


AN   UNTOLD   LOVE 

"Oh,  Maizie,  I  can't.  It's  all  too 
dear  to  me." 

"Please,  Don,  try?" 

"But"  — 

She  interrupted  my  protest.  "  Don 
ald,"  she  said,  the  tenderness  in  her  face 
and  voice  softening  her  words,  "before 
knowing  that  I  loved  you,  you  insisted 
that  debt  must  be  paid.  Won't  you  pay 
me  now,  dear  ? " 

"  I  don't  merely  owe  you  money, 
Maizie ! "  I  cried.  "  I  owe  you  every 
thing,  and  I  'm  a  brute  to  the  most  gen 
erous  of  women.  Give  me  the  book, 
dear  heart." 

"You'll  make  it  nice,  like  the  rest, 
won't  you  ?  "  she  begged. 

"I'll  try."  And  then  I  laughingly 
added,  "  Maizie,  you  still  have  the  tech 
nical  part  of  story-telling  to  learn." 

"  How  ? " 

"  I  can't  write  all  you  wish  and  make 
it  symmetrical.  In  the  first  place,  we 
don't  want  to  spend  so  much  time  on 

347 


/HE    STORY    OF   AN    UNTOLD    LOVE 

IVhitely  as  to  give  him  a  fictitious  value ; 
and  next,  to  be  artistic,  we  must  end  with 
our  good-night  that  evening." 

"  Well,  that  will  do,  if  you  '11  only  tell 
it  nicely." 

And  that,  my  dears,  is  why  I  write 
again  of  those  old  days,  so  distant  now 
in  time  and  mood.  What  is  told  here  is 
shared  with  you  only  to  please  my  love, 
and  I  ask  of  you  that  it  shall  be  a  confi 
dence.  And  of  Another  I  beg  that  each 
of  you  in  time  may  find  a  love  as  strong 
as  that  told  here  ;  that  each  may  be  as 
true  and  noble  as  your  mother,  and  as 
happy  as  your  father. 

Good-night,  my  children.     Good-night, 
my  love.     May  God  be  as  good  to  you 
as  he  has  been  to  me. 
348 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


College     MflY 
library     MAY 


Book  Slip-35m-9,'62(D2218s4)428U 


College 
Library 


UCLA-College  Library 

PS  1692  S88  1897 


L  005  689  667  3 


.692 

;88 

-897 


